


The Lavender Road

by LilyJean2013



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2019-07-28 02:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 101,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16232060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyJean2013/pseuds/LilyJean2013
Summary: . . . Discontinued . . .It's a strange thing to say out loud: Dirt is used to bury memories. Dante was there for humans . . . Even ones who didn't ask for his help. Now he's gone, and I am left here with the pieces of a dubious legacy. Perfect. Vergil, Dante





	1. Prologue: Of Wolf & Man

Chapter 1 - Prologue: Of Wolf & Man

It felt like he was sick; sick with that long agony, and when the master unbound him and he was permitted to leave for mission's sake, he felt that his senses were leaving.

Nothing but the sound of the order going through his mind, nonstop.

"Kill Dante. Kill that bastard. Kill him, no matter what it takes. Kill . . . Kill . . . Kill him!" Over and over and under his skin; like pestilence from a frog.

However, the unexpected happened. The amulet . . .

It had awakened everything within him. The sight of his brother, the feeling of sorrow and hatred overflowing his senses. Everything rushed at him at once.  
So many shades and emotions across the spectrum turned to physical feelings, his mind struggling to comprehend what was happening.  
He was starting to burn, but wouldn't lose his will to stay. Unable to decide on which emotion to express, he chose to scream inside that cathedral.

"Help me . . . Help me! Someone, something, set me free!" But it came out as a growl, the festering temper of a caged animal.

He belonged to Mundus now. His freedom to speak stripped, it was almost impossible to do something by free will.

Something was wrong here, where had his strength to stand gone? Before him stood his most hated enemy.

"You're an honorable man, I give ya that much." Dante commented casually, "You woulda been the perfect kinda guy to choose your own path, fight for what's right.  
The whole good book thing et cetera, et cetera."

Ah, that old sarcastic attitude.

Sad to say, he actually missed that part of his brother's personality.  
At least that was a part of him that couldn't ever be squashed, Dante's sense of humor.

He actually almost felt like laughing, but knew it would only wrench his ears, like a wolf braying to the hunter.

It's like that rebellious voice itself gave Nelo Angelo strength to fight back. A deep scream ripped through him. With all of his senses, he protested against Mundus' binding spells.  
After a moment of struggle, the helmet cracked, revealing a shining light. It was so bright. The helmet shattered in a burst of resolve, evaporating into sand.

Freeing his flesh, at last.

He stood facing his brother for a moment of silence, his mind refusing to let go of the memory, of the bond they shared. It was undeniable, they both knew. Recognition was the next step.  
He'd forgotten that feeling. What it was like not to be alone. So many years held inside a rotting place, no way of knowing if he'd ever be free again, never to return to life.

A raven cawed in the wind outside.

Dante froze for a moment, studying his face.

The raindrops kept falling, the howling winds ripping against the outer walls of the old castle. And deep down, Nelo Angelo held hope that his brother knew him.

The eldest twin can see it all.

A little boy in a blue shirt, running, stressed and afraid in a field.

"Vergil, wait!" Another kid called out from behind.

The boy in blue slowed slightly, looking to the side, and said, "Come on slowpoke! You better hurry or I'll leave you behind."

He laughed. The other boy was dressed in black shorts and a plain red tee. He began to cry as he attempted to keep up.

"Vergil, please slow down. Don't leave me behind!" The boy stubbed his foot on a rock and lost his balance, he fell on his stomach and his head slammed harshly on the ground.  
He began to bleed from his temple, staining the green a vivid vermillion. A warbled voice arose, speaking incoherently as tears welled in the corner of his eyes.

The boy in blue stopped and looked back. "Wha- W-whoa, Dante!"

The kid in red stayed on the ground, crying and holding his head. Vergil raced over, knelt down and checked his head . . . But he wouldn't let go.

"H-hey, you're okay! You're alright, i just- Let me see it!" He smiled nervously, attempting to comfort the boy.

He'd always been the weaker of the two.

"No . . . I-it hurts . . ." His breath was hurt, stifled by manic fear.

Vergil turned his back to him and lifted his small torso onto his shoulders. Dante grabbed ahold of his shirt to climb up, and stayed put.

"Climb on me, I'll carry you."

The older child remained stoic in the face of bad fortune, despite the other boy being less strong-willed, at least for now.  
He sobbed still, frightened of the notion that Vergil would abandon him. . . The empty field stretched as far as they could see, feeling lonely to the eyes.

He soothed his brother's panic, "We better hurry, mom's gonna be worried."

Nelo Angelo fell back to hell, where Mundus waited. Returning here was not easy – not only for what he was about to endure, but for the price he had to pay.  
His feet hung heavy, plodding along the lake of fire, but never burning, only enduring each scorching step with malice for the master. He did fine, before Dante came along.  
Vergil felt hot chains warp themselves to his limbs, grafting on. The sensation of heat engulfed his mid-section, like the shackles themselves were slowly eating the flesh piece by piece.  
Fitting he'd be tortured over a thousand-years long void.

"Useless being, begin." A deep, corroding voice enveloped him. "You know the rules, for those who fail their tasks. . . Off to the new day's mist, destroyer."

The pain splintered through his bones, tearing him apart. Mentally, he prepared himself for death.

It's all over.

The sweltering sensation rose and rose, as he felt a change, to the point he almost swore Mundus flayed him alive.

A liquid of some kind ascended from the void and covered his legs, rolling out over him.

Time had flown after his brother defeated him, inside that dreaded cathedral. The memory itself remained, burning a hole in his psyche. Like twisted vines that grow, he felt consumed by this mansion.  
So, he waited for the day it would be overwritten. Perhaps he had a chance to see his brother alive again, though he knew it a foolish endeavor to wish for such things.  
All around his entire being lay, the winds of hell searing shut what became blind eyes. He felt mutilated, made to be seen but not heard, and his reality barred from living, living blindly.  
Sight was the greatest gift to receive, but he saw differently than most. Like glass shattering through his flesh, now more than ever his dictator overran his every nerve.

The dark broke, and that cocoon lifted.

He was horrified when he recognized him. The eldest twin wanted to scream, 'Why are you here!? Why didn't you run, you fool!'

However, at the moment he was thankful. Dante might give him what he wants the most, death.  
So he could be free from this humiliation, this putrid existence as a decomposing slave inside the black pits of his soul. From being nothing more than a puppet with no free will.  
The master of him, his undying lord Mundus, would not let him see clearly, 'cleansing' him of shelter or affection not that it was beyond attainment through success.  
In many ways, Mundus was the abusive father he'd never wanted, rewarding on achievement alone.

"Relaaaax child, I will run through you, I will help you die." Mundus leered at him, "I will make all that you know disappear before your very eyes. . . Crawl to the living ends, my son."

Son. . .

The only family he had was that man in red, the man of unshakable light come forth to fight fire with fire.

The two of them were brothers, through anything, they couldn't have that taken.  
Their flesh and blood is alike, sharing something inextricable. A truth he could not speak to Dante that night of their final showdown atop the dark tower.

Of course, he was a different person then.

That was the moment he realized Dante was stronger than him, superior in his own right. He would be fine, his place was right there in the human world.  
While he, the eldest son of Sparda, needed to be in the demon world, he needed to gain the strength he always desired, far from fragile mortals. It was better this way.  
They couldn't walk the same worlds, for he no longer understood the wake of man.

Here, in this place, this twisted paradise, he could make a name for himself among the demons; his demons, both physical and mental.  
And nothing else mattered, every cost sufficient for his rickety ends. At least it was a choice by his own hands.  
Then, maybe the two of them could meet again, and let this little rivalry continue. Who is the strongest child of Sparda?

He'd always wondered it aloud in his mind, and they'd put it to the test on many an occasion.

"Leave me and go, if you don't want to be trapped in the demon world. Just go. . ."

That's what was hidden within these words. And, deep down, he hoped Dante realized that and moved on.

Of course, Dante had moved on long ago, probably. Such as his nature was, he could let things go.

Nelo Angelo couldn't; his fatal flaw.

Seconds turned into minutes, and those minutes to hours, and so on and so forth until he no longer thought about how long Mundus had punished him.

But he caught himself counting the appearance of his missing sibling to the milliseconds.

"Trish," Vergil heard Mundus' voice, far away but still booming, "Vergil has been defeated, you know what you must do."

He felt the grand torturer impale a flaming blade unto his chest. It stuck through his blackened heart, screaming for him to burst like a balloon.  
The torture in his chest went on forever, driving this bitter man to no longer care for what pain means. It drained away all of his energy, like a leech in blood.  
He could feel his core die agonizingly slow, when, out of nowhere, he felt himself teleported out this chained misery, and his armor shattered.

Air . . .

Air . . .

He was falling.

Falling, falling . . .

Nothing but the harsh sound of wind flapping past his ears. He couldn't see anything and, altogether, felt nothing. It was an utterly perfect dark; a never ending abyss.  
He thought he was dead. That had to be it, since he failed . . . A final release before being ended so torturously. Eventually, he'll hit the ground. He must.  
Wherever he was, he had to be in a place with a solid ground, whether it be this dimension or the next.

Perhaps he'd break every bone in his body; perhaps it would be a realm with new, completely different physics.

Vergil dropped out of reality into a ravenous vacuum. It was evil, every waking second felt choking.  
He'd never felt so claustrophobic.

But then, he heard it . . .

"My son, you will be fine."

The young halfling felt warm hands grace his back, pulling him close. It was an embrace of love, pure and clean.

"Mother. . . Please." The young man muttered on, teary eyes wired shut.

There was no air in his lungs. Yet he coughed and gagged on his lifeblood.  
His mind floundered in the shadow, before flashes of torment took control.

He slammed harshly into the cold ground and every part of his body screamed for gory murder.  
A scar flamed from the middle of his chest to his shoulder blade, traversing down his spine. He shivered on the stone, twisting and writhing on the floor.

Holding back a blackened roar, he thought perhaps this is another punishment for him, a cruel affliction to trick his reasoning.

The abyss closed before him, leaving him in his new destination, glittering silver and white.

The young man opened his eyes.

His white hair brushed over his ear, and he spotted a blue coat resting below him on the brimstone floor. He grumbled to himself and rubbed the crust out of his eyes.  
The pain vanished, leaving him sore. He leaned forward to keep himself awake. Vergil groaned as he rolled his shoulders slowly, every inch cracking, releasing old pressures.  
The constant, sharp stinging in his bones and muscles helped him wake sooner. He pulled up and made room to draw his coat out from under him.  
Aching chronic, he begrudgingly slid his arms through and tugged at the collar to adjust it to fit. Familiar for the most part. His old gloves were missing though.

Once his vision cleared he noticed the grey ceiling and there were six pillars of anguished salt. Three, for both sides of the hall.

On the other end, there was a large statue, towering high, similar to the pillars.

The being, carved in stone, was of his demon overlord, the terrible, black angel.

Mundus.

Vergil leaned forward and lightly scoffed, spitting at the ground in front of it. 'So, I was summoned here.' His recovering mind pondered.

Although it astounded him that he could be alive at all, Mundus doesn't take failure lightly.

No devil should have survived. Griffon was killed, awful and squallid when Mundus sought to prove his authority.  
Vergil laid there for a long time, mentally checking off that he still had all his fingers and toes. . . More so if he had his legitimate body still.

He was released from that armor, somehow.

Vergil looked up and noticed that the upper half of the statue had just cracked. Fragments were sprawled out in the hall. He widened his eyes in confusion.

Baaattttttoooooommm thund thund!

Vergil's thoughts cut short when he heard the sound of someone hit the ground and bounce. They attempted to stand, but fell, then grunted.

Climbing to an upright sitting position, his eyes nervously scanned the area until he saw.

A figure in a crimson coat, having a seizure. Face down in the ground, a series of sickening wheezing sounds wrenching through him.

There was an oversized, flaming maroon sword next to his body.

"S-Sparda-. . . Dante!?" Vergil mumbled at first, then screamed when he realized who it was.

He leaned to his side, got on a knee, then sprinted up to his feet.  
The man bolted over to his ailing brother. His vision was gripped by a fear unlike any other. Vergil knelt down and held Dante. . . cradling him.

Within seconds, though it pained him to do so, the red slayer looked up at him, crunching his broken neck, and the two locked stares for a moment of acknowledgement.

There were no tears in Dante's eyes. His lips moved in an attempt to say something but no sound came out.  
His eyes rolled back and his grip loosened. His skin grew cold and limp. . . And he moved no more. Vergil bowed and lowered his forehead to Dante's.  
He stayed like that for a moment. He waited, and yet. . . Nothing. There was no life. Not a breath nor heartbeat. Just a dead corpse.

Vergil placed one arm under his brother's knees and held the other under his shoulder. Lifting up, he tore a few barely healed tendons to carry him.

He limped through the double door, and found himself in a room that looked like the inside of a monster's chest. There was the heart in the ground, beating profusely.  
Blood spat all over the ground. It was wounded. By Dante? Most likely. He was on some sort of ledge that was about fifty feet from the ground.

Vergil knelt down and focused on several platforms away from him. The light blue glow replaced his location as Vergil shot up to the platform.  
He reaffirmed his grip as he did that four more times. The fifth platform had more distance compared to the previous jumps. He'd need a bit of help for this one.

So, Vergil placed his brother over his shoulder, sprinted forward in spite of his own ailments, then jumped as far as he could and sent a blue sword to the ledge.  
Upon connecting, the blade shattered, and they were zoomed up to the fifth platform from a midair slump. Creatures screeched from below, arising and eager to finish off the half breed.  
Desperate to feed on the flesh. Vergil hiked over to the next platform, but he lost his balance, forcing him to go down. A monster leapt for him.

His eyes glowed red, and he summoned another, stronger blade of azure light, flinging it at the beast.

It snarled as the weapon implanted itself into its mouth, carrying it off it's feet and pinning it to the wall. It hung there, stuck in place, struggling.

Vergil continued on his way, launching up to the second, grey colored door.

The next room had veins all throughout it, and in the corner, more Daemons.  
Once he walked forward, he felt a tremor beneath him. . . A warning. The setting wasn't going to last long.

He kicked his heels and he sprinted ahead. Another room. Perfect.

It was much wider than it's claustrophobic predecessor, but it had a few small circles, a bit far from each other, woven in the ground.  
They seemed to reflect the colors of the Rainbow.

More entities emerged to stop him.

"Step aside!" He shouted angrily and blue energy erupted out, forcing them all to fly away lifeless in a rupture of death.

He stopped for a moment, falling to his knees, his brother's body almost becoming too much. He spat up blood to the ground, and quickly let it fall away from his mouth, spitting out the excess.  
Vergil took a moment for his breath, although the floor started to shake violently. He felt something from above fall on top of him. A liquid of some kind, staining his hair and slopping all over Dante's.  
He scurried along, hobbling ahead through an opening, and it led him to another raised stage.

The way back to the human world.

Vergil pulled Dante down to how he held him before and he balanced himself upon the ledge.

After a moment, the platform started to rumble and jerk up to a portal in the ceiling. He felt a heavy sensation overtake him.  
A blinding light pierced his eyes. He flinch and closed them tightly, placing his arm over his forehead. Once the light cleared, he collapsed and nearly dropped Dante.  
He panted heavily, though he could sense his wounds gradually cure. Vergil observed his surrounding. He wanted to make sure he knew where he was exactly.

Back in the cathedral.

He could see the throne up the stairs.

Looking behind him, he saw the balcony overlooking the dark skies, now lit by a rising sun, where he stood waiting for Dante in their final encounter as rivals.

He dashed through the dark, and in the middle, several threads dropped to the ground. The puppets were ready to attack.  
Vergil placed Dante over his shoulder and kicked the first one into a wall. It crashed flatly against the cement and he followed it with another kick to the head.  
It's head broke apart into stuffing and wood.

Another launched itself at him, but he threw out a boot and shot it down. It came undone, breaking to pieces after hitting the ground.  
A third one attempted a slicing dance, flinging it's macabre blades with a smile. Within a second, it scattered back and splintered open.  
Two swirling, chaotic double-edged blades flickered into being, encircling around two more targets as Vergil continued toward his goal.

The blades rammed the puppets, dicing them into quivering cubes.

Vergil burst through the decorated wood door, but stopped outside. He was shocked to see a plane.  
He rounded left and sprung off his feet, flinging up desperately as he managed to place his brother in the backseat.

Vergil seized the very edge of the cabin with his fingers, and pulled himself up with inhuman strength.

The straps were placed on Dante and he got in the pilot's seat. He waited anxiously, as the earthquake increased while the propellor blades started up.

The wall before him started to collapse, crumbling into dust. The status and expensive decorations were destroyed, piece by piece.

Until he saw a hole break through the wall.

He activated the engine and the aircraft jetted forward, flying out through the castle wall. Of the debris that fell off and missed the plane, they went so fast that the wreckage caused some turbulence.

The cavernous expanse was depressing and long. Nevertheless, he sped through the crumbling tunnel, dodging stalactite after stalactite at blazing speed.

An entire chunk of the ceiling completely collapsed, Vergil continued through for several, grueling seconds, as his eyes could see an unbroken expanse of blue ocean.  
It was the sea spray of the exit. Rocketing through the disintegrating island, he fired the turrets and broke through a boulder threatening to collide with their turbine.  
It atomized just as they sped through the rubble, flying forward blindingly fast.

Vergil closed his eyes. The rumbling of the cave was gone. In fact, it seemed briefly that all sounds had gone.

He opened his eyes.

The sunlight shined on his soul, bringing him into the realm of humans for the first time in however long. Grey clouds playfully sailed around, gliding high above the dancing sea.  
A clean smell of salt water and of moisture swept through his hair, and he felt his lungs open up wide, breathing life for the first time. Steadfast came the joyous feeling rushing breezes.

Out from a world beyond the space and time, he basked under the crystal water skies, it's tranquility empowering him.

The island cracked apart, exploding in a massive fireball, leaving the ocean depths to claim it.

He adjusted some of the dials, flipped a few switches, and made a path to the closest shoreline, based off the map in the passenger seat.

If that was any indicator.

Back to the Devil May Cry office. . . Reality came dreary, but a pleasant memory returned to him, marred by the future

"Vergil, Dante! Happy birthday boys." Eva smiled while she carried a cake into the kitchen.

The two boys brightened in unison as they gazed at the cake longingly.

"Wow." Vergil said followed by Dante, "Cool! I want the chocolate part!"

Vergil shot Dante a troubled look.

"Wait, no, I want the chocolate piece!" They were younger here. Much younger, around 8 years old.

Both got into a brief shoving match, as started by the rowdier Dante, but their mother walked around to them.  
She placed the cake on the table and she knelt down to their level.

Somehow, she broke the squabble up without shoving them away from each other.

"Now, now. Boys, what have I said about fighting?"

The two looked around scornfully, reluctantly accepting their parent's wisdom.  
However, with the sincere expression of Eva, both boys calmed down, then exchanged looks.

"No hitting over stuff." Dante answered.

"-Even if it's something we can share." Vergil crossed his arms.

Eva placed her hand over the twins' shoulders, "I'll split the chocolate up so both of you can enjoy it. That's fair. Agreed?"

Both Vergil and Dante's smiles grew back, replying "Okay," - "Yes mom."

. . .

It was an unpleasantly cold winter's night; dark, mystifying.

The moon was sheltered by the murky clouds.

This would be the night that marked when Dante, the son of Sparda, would be laid to rest.

The Devil May Cry shop had a shared backyard. It was more like a courtyard, bleeding off into the large complex that surrounded it and possessing overgrown trees that blotted out any lamps.  
All of them were orange trees, growing large, tangy little prizes to be picked by anyone who came back there, but most of the time, no one did.  
Vergil thought this was the best place to lay him down. He placed the last amount of dirt over the unmarked grave, far beneath the roots of the tree closest to the shop.

That tree was Dante's now.

It had gone on as a symbol of life, but now it would carry the sentiment of death as well.

Perhaps, now it signified the cycle of both. The possibility of something new may come quickly. Rebirth.

He walked away for a moment, then stopped. He turned to the tree. It looked so strong and inviting. Just like Dante used to.

Vergil opened the door, and placed the shovel back in the cabinet. It was a small little cupboard, and had held the shovel previously.  
There were a few other gardening tools, but they all looked good as new, unused often, no doubt. Thankfully, he'd found it in time, otherwise he would have had to use his hands.  
Though he was strong himself, he wasn't sure right now if his fingers would have held up.

There, upon the desk, lay his sword Rebellion and his guns Ebony and Ivory. Ifrit sat behind the blade. He heaved a long shudder as he grabbed the sword and stared at it for a moment.  
From there, Vergil returned with the fatherly brand and firmly planted it over the grave. He gripped the handle tightly, shoving it deep into the earth, though taking care not to drive it through brother.  
Here in the dark, he felt it accompany him, the preparation for the stage of night. . . Dante had given his everything, asking nothing in return. This is where it led him.

His fingers vibrated against the hilt for several seconds, till he let his grip go completely.

He stayed there for a while, unsure of what was he feeling at the moment. Right there before him was his brother's grave.

There was a weird sensation in his heart he couldn't quite understand.

Was he really sad for losing Dante? Did he really care about him despite their rivalry? Their dysfunctional treatment of each other?  
Or was it all Mundus's doing, making him go soft and remember a time where he was close to the other kind. The effects of what he endured needed time to heal.

It needed to be forgotten.

The silent, choking horror and confusion of the moment was interrupted by the sound of the telephone inside.

Vergil returned, inside the office he stood with some hesitation, but he answered it anyway.

"I'm looking for Dante?" A feminine voice with an accent spoke through the other line, "I heard that he does for special jobs, like the paranormal."

English wasn't her first language, she spoke slightly broken in this tongue.  
He could hear that she was deliberating with someone else around her, maybe one or two other people.

"Dante is. . . Uh-" Vergil paused.

His eyes focused on the picture over the desk, the picture of mom posing with her sons. But, what had gotten his attention the most was. . . Was a slashed glove placed next to the frame. . .  
He remembered exactly what it was, what it must be. The same glove Dante wore when they had their last, true fight, inside Temen-ni-gru. Youthful rivalry turned enraged, familial dispute.  
Those final words they'd shared were inspiring at the time, now ringing only with a sad sentiment.

'-And now? My soul is saying it wants to stop you!' The memory pained his forehead, scratching at the spot just behind his eye socket.

He cleared his head, and suppressed the pain.

Grunting, he finally responded, "Er- I'm Dante."

It didn't sound confident at all, but it broke the silence.

"-Can you please come to Dumary Island? I will be waiting for you abroad."

"Abroad? I don't think- Listen, why are you seeking my service?" Vergil opened several of the drawers on the desk in quick succession.

He found a notepad and several pens. Among them sat two papers, filled to the brim with cryptic writings.

The very first line was, 'I can't take this anymore . . .' He tucked it away for a bit later.  
The voice on the line gave information as he clicked a pen. He scribbled what he could.

"Please, it is one emergency." The voice spoke with semblances of sincerity.

"You know, I really think that's not- *sigh*, never mind. What is your name?" He sighed, slightly annoyed by the improper usage of the language.

"My name is Lucia."

After some time, Vergil answered, "Very well, I will be there when I can. I trust you know my rate?"

"Of course, half when you get here, half after dark." She said, sounding confident in her choice of words.

"Wait no, in what context-" And click.

She hung up the phone.

He heaved a long shudder, he took the glove and brought it close so he could examine it. The Yamato's mark still there. . . Like a stain.

There, the obvious cut in the middle of the palm, it was entirely the same glove as he thought.

He breathed and fell upon the chair.  
The silence in the place gave a horrifying sense of emptiness, a feeling he never imagined could engulf him, ever.

At last, he took the papers out and started reading, gulping hard:

I can't take this anymore . . . Mom, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I couldn't help him. I tried to drag him out, I wanted him to be here with me, but he made a different choice.  
I suppose I knew he was always going to do that. He'd grown to value power more than any familial sentiment. His last words were for dad, I know you stressed his reverence.  
But. . . I can't let it go. I've tried to accept that he left, but it only ever comes back to haunt me. Now too, Vergil does the same.

Consider it another notch in the family's long line of bad choices. Not that Dad made a bad decision sticking up for humanity, we happen to agree there.

Mom, I miss you so much. I promise, Mundus will pay for it. No matter what it takes. I promise, I will try to find my way back to hell. I'll drag that stubborn bastard out by his ear. . .

I'm sorry Vergil.

He choked on air at the last line. He couldn't believe his eyes.

It was a letter addressed to their mother, beneath a header that said 'Anniversary.' He'd never forgotten about her, keeping her close at heart.  
Vergil felt an overwhelming sense of shame and guilt, he'd let her go long ago. And then there was this small note to her, a fond remembrance and lament for a split family.

Was Dante feeling guilty for walking out of the demon world without him? It seemed he even regretted calling him a 'stubborn bastard.'

Heh. Hehehe.

Vergil broke out into a strange laughter, unable to restrain himself.

He kept laughing and laughing, slowly growing silent and distraught again as the reality crashed back on him like a freight train.

"You fool. . . Why?" He said under his breath, his voice cracking as he placed the papers back in their drawer.

"You couldn't have picked a simpler occupation? No. . . Of course not, you stubborn bastard-. . ." Vergil choked up again, so he left the chair and paced into a hall.

Then went through a door. . . inside to the bedroom.  
The place was small but neat. It barely had enough space for a bed and a closet, though somehow Dante put both in here.  
Behind, or rather around, the armoire was a window where he could see a fire escape. Perfect view of. . . The desolately empty parking lot.  
The bathroom was open and had the basic materials needed.

Vergil took a pair of scissors from the medicine cabinet, assuming Dante used these to fix his hair. He was right.

The elder kin messed with his hair until it fell down over his face. It'd been a long time.

The length of his hair now touched his shoulders. He heaved a sigh and started cutting, shedding and trimming, until it was quite a bit shorter than before.  
Around twenty five minutes later, and a few of his bangs parted in front of his right eye. He leaned over the sink, washing the light hair down the drain. So many locks gone.

"I'm in your debt Dante. I'm actually in your debt, for once." He whispered.

He knelt down slightly and placed his palm over his forehead. He breathed in and out, a meditation practice, in an attempt to calm his lost mind.

At last, he straightened himself, trimmed up a few rogue hairs, and walked out of the bathroom. His clothes were ragged and filthy.

So he threw them out the window, dumping them into the dumpster outside. Going for the closet now.

Inside was a red and black coat. The black would hug the torso, with a red trench coat overhang to the legs. It must have been a recent development that Dante worked on.  
At the bottom of the closet were several boots.

Vergil changed into red pants with two black belts each wrapped around his thighs.  
A belt featuring a skull-themed buckle wrapped around his waist, and he wore black, old-west-like gloves with three fastened straps on each one.  
Attached to his feet were knee-high black boots. The matching red sections were a deeper scarlet than he remembered Dante wearing.

With two, protracted coat tails and a black long-sleeved shirt underneath, he snapped on a black holster, meant for Rebellion, wrapping over his right shoulder and around his chest.  
Two golden studs decorated the front of the strap. The harness fit well, functioning efficient also. He'd find a weapon to fit it one day, one day. . .

Vergil returned to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror.

It felt bizarre at first; completely wrong, in fact. It was like Dante came to life, staring him down through the mirror.

'So that's what that felt like. . .' He thought.

Once it was done, Vergil scratched the back of his head. The place was still quiet, but it meant little.  
Every footstep he made echoed throughout. The neon sign in the back flickered out as Vergil took hold of the front door handle, then closed it behind him.  
The street was quite still. Everything hushed out, and barely any people walked the sidewalks. Here and there, there would be one or two, since it was closing time for the shops.

Not his, though.

Vergil stopped midway when he saw a familiar face.

It was a woman, with her pinstripe jacket hung so as to reveal no bra, and unbuttoned lazily.

She had short raven hair, with locks on both sides of her face and a fringe covering her forehead and eyebrows.

Thank you for reading. Please leave a review.


	2. Lady/Mary part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It occurred to him that he didn't really have a concept of how much time had slipped away from his grasp.

Chapter 2. - Lady Mary Part 1

Once her eyes fell upon his sunken shoulders, she smirked. Vergil returned glances and pondered over her for a moment, 'What's her name? Moira... Maria? It must be one of the two.'  
It was ironic, considering the last time he saw her, he barely had to care.

"Welcome back, Dante. I was coming to look for you actually." She said, that trademark saucy smile gliding over her face.

'Dante' stood still watching her . . . without a waver.  
He put one hand in his coat pocket while the other was out at the ready in case he needed to draw his weapon.  
The last he'd known of the woman was that she sought the extinction of devils like him. It occurred to him that he didn't really have a concept of how much time had slipped away from his grasp.

" . . . Aren't you going to ask why I came?" The woman said after a small, stilted silence.

Vergil heaved a sigh. "What kind of job?"

It was a bit tough to handle, but he tried to summon up his brother's mannerisms; that distinctive, laid-back drawl. It came out garbled. He'd never had to mimic him before,  
his voice cracked and the tone was inconsistent. She caught on, his falter confusing her. Lady picked at him for a moment with a squint.

"Are-. . . Are you feeling alright?" Leaning on her left hip with her hand.

Oh, she was a sassy one with those shorts.

Vergil tensed slightly.

"I'm quite well-. . . I'm okay, like you said I just returned." He caught himself and suppressed the formal speech pattern he'd become versed in.

Lady walked up to him, close enough to invade his personal space. It was far too claustrophobic for his liking.  
He clenched his fist and moved slightly from the devil huntress to the front. To avoid giving her a wrong Idea.  
It's not like he hadn't seen a woman before; it was just her closeness is not something he desires for the moment. Her father . . . still left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Okaaaay?" She dragged out her timbre, then keyed into his body language. Dante, the man who should be flirting with her every chance he got . . . was physically uncomfortable.  
Did he always have a thing about being close to her? No, that's not true because of the time when he fought her at Temen-ni-gru.

A blue moon perhaps?

"There's a Demon pack nearby, you wanna join the party?" She pointed at the street to their left and motioned up-ahead, pass the traffic light.

She archived this moment in case she needed to recall it later. Something was different, changed.

"Understood." He walked ahead of her toward their destination.

She prepped her guns by the flick of the safety switches. From there, she walked closely beside him.

Several people watched her, worried. They gathered around in small crowds, some even blocking the path forward.

"Move it now." She addressed them coldly. However, before they had the chance to react, a sound of screeching metal boomed through the streets, scaring them off.  
Instinctively, she placed the sights of her pistol up over to the roof of a convenience store. The neon sign flickered in and out, occasionally illuminating the demonic creatures beside it.  
A thick bile ran from their mouths, corroding the enamel on their colossal teeth. Three maddening smiles affixed themselves as the red orbs in their skulls remained luminescent.

Each looked like a reptilian, with cracked, scaly legs, sliding in all fours and baring its fangs, arranged like shark teeth. Atop it's forehead was an organic crest,  
so bulky that it just couldn't be pierced by any bullet or sword. Their bodies were built like predators, thick and mean. All of the arms ended in massive, ancient claws.

In spite of the odds, Lady smirked. Her trusty SMGs at her sides, she pulled them up like lightning, and the rate of fire lit the street. With every blink of combustion, they sprinted from the left, circling around to close the distance. Her shades reflected its approach . . . One jumped through the sign, causing the meager source to black out.  
She continued firing, but this thing fell over and slapped the ground. Using the force of the bullets, it flipped in mid-air to its back. Gargling on its own blood, the monster spat it out, then lunged.

From the darkness, a swipe nearly tore the bounty hunter's mid-section open. She dashed back, hoping for the last ditch effort to miss completely.

The sound of her gun overshadowed their roars, as each charged toward her, ready to gut. She shot the jaw and it lost all of its energy, dropping to the ground.  
From there, she reached to her lower back and revealed a frag grenade. All others were stunned. In its dazed state, she pulled the pin and lightly tossed it in the creature's maw.

Lifting it's head up, it snarled at her, seconds before detonation. A brilliant burst of vibrant gore exploded in all directions, painting abandoned cars and walls a sickening crimson.

She exhaled proudly and scanned around for it's friends. Without warning, she heard a rasp behind her. Twisting around, she closed her eyes, knowing it should have been the end.

She got careless.

A sudden sound and the shifting of the wind around her made her wince back a step. A death rattle emanated from the beast's throat.

She hazarded a glance. 'Dante' had killed the other demon with a simple beheading and dueling the other while she was busy wasting ammo.  
In front of her, there lay sword in it's jugular and the man twisting and turning the blade with an uncharacteristic cruelty.

"Watch yourself." He said, turning back to her with glowing eyes. The creature fell to the ground, passing on as he walked away.

She stared at his broad-shouldered back. 'What happened to you down there?' It echoed through her mind alone.

Up ahead, following him, she could hear multiple voices, from twisted demon grunts to the slayer's vocalizations fighting them off.

Lady rounded the corner and was taken aback.

'Dante' was in the middle of scarecrows. Many, many scarecrows. Yet, he didn't use his guns.

He was moving swiftly with blue blades dancing in the air, catching any creature who attempted to jump him.

Dante moved his hand out in front of himself, and a storm of blue blades circled him, slicing and dicing through the myriad of scaly savages.  
He drew Yamato then dived forward . . . slashing through two combatants that weren't as stunned as the rest. He moved both of his hands like he was holding twin guns and he did a circle, summoning multiple azure blades that shined brilliantly in the night sky. He went for head shots, killing off the bulk of them.

The projected weapons gleamed so brightly, almost disturbing. They grooved with the blood of demons, all spilled onto the street in a horrifying pattern.

He drew Yamato again and executed a forward Rapid Slash, galloping abroad and slicing horizontally. Three were at once bisected, flying away in different directions chaotically.  
He hit the top of someone's car by accident. The glass crunched and splintered against the metal. The lights cut out while the alarm sounded.  
Stopping once, he saw an orange, smoky shape belting scarecrows his way. Vergil looked back at the source, and he saw his brother's partner-in-crime stare at him with a lurid grin.

Lady moved her weapon Kailna Ann to her hip and fired again. The brass casings rained down to the asphalt.

Vergil ducked back when the bazooka shot went right above him, killing more scarecrows.

He straightened up and dusted himself off again, clasping tightly unto Yamato. He glared directly back at her with a minor distain. Lightly shaking his head,  
he'd moved his hand slightly almost as if he would unsheathe his weapon on her, right then and there. Blue energy emerged and a gaggle of other fiends took Judgment Cuts.

Exploding into severed limbs and piles of mush, Lady saw strings of reflected, metallic light.  
They were strangely familiar, a sort of blue-purple, though she couldn't put her finger on where she'd seen it before.

"Hmm, seems like you've got some new tricks since last time, don't ya?" Lady said politely as she holstered her weapons. "Since when have you had elegance and style? That Vergil's weapon? Or is my memory defective?"

'Dante' breathed and moved his bangs slightly from his eyes. He almost pushed his hair back up into it's old style out of reflex.

"People grow, Mary."

"The hell'd you just say?" She asked sharply, interrogating him.

He was silent at first, surprised by her volatile reaction.

"That's-. . . your name . . . "

Lady frowned at him, she wanted to choke him so bad right this moment.  
It's so like him to try and tease her, but this is going a bit far.

"You were the first person to know me as Lady, don't you ever remind me of that again, ever!" She shouted, her left hand and fingers twitched as she came close to drawing her pistol.

She ducked, avoiding another scarecrow, and leaned in, firing backwards . . . hitting the weak spot.  
It died before it even hit the ground.

Lady frowned deeply, aware of his icy eyes crushingly fixated on her, and with a strange half-smile in his lips.

She righted herself immediately, feeling her head spin from the effort.  
Nevertheless, she focused all her will to stay alert and as dignified as possible.

"You don't need to act tough to impress me. You may as well sit down and take your breath." Vergil said, gesturing at the sidewalk that suddenly looked quite inviting.

'Impress him? He must be out of his mind!'

"Thanks. Ya know, last time I checked, I didn't require your permission, Dante. I will be fine." Lady replied with bitter sarcasm, feeling her anger return with an immediate sense of despair.

A hot flush of embarrassment suffused the huntress' cheeks, her thin raven brows knitting in a frown.

Vergil shrugged in character.

"If you don't slow down, next time, you'll collapse in the middle of a fight. As far as I'm concerned, a true soldier would never allow herself to suffer such indignity, you are still human, do not forget that." He said in a monotonous, coldly practical voice.

Lady seemed to consider his words for a moment, indeed she was tired tonight and perhaps the red mermcenry caught that easily, before mumbling in bitterness.

"Have you read a dictionary . . . ? Nice grammar. You've been weird tonight, seriously."

Crap. He'd slipped into old habits without realizing it.

On the outside, 'Dante' merely stared at her in silence for a moment.

"Ya may never know, but all that carefree attitude was just a mask. Maybe it's the right time to tear it off."

She crossed her arms, he still didn't sound right, but she gave him a break.  
A more serious expression bled through.

"I can't imagine what you've been through." She said.

Gazing down at the ground, his eyes strained for a moment. The memory of Dante dying in his arms.

An unspoken truth, followed with the strange ache in his heart.

Lady couldn't read him at all. However, she did understand, the two of them are similar. Both suffered a horrible family loss because of the hellions . . . They blighted the world.  
Whatever Dante saw on that Island, it definitely changed him, that much she could tell. Perhaps . . . after all the years, he was coming to terms with his tragedy.

"Ya do know we're not strangers, right?" She asked him.

Vergil brought his sight to meet hers. A bit weirded out, he said, "Yes . . . I mean- . . . Yeah. Of course."

Even though he didn't really believe it, perhaps this woman meant something to Dante. Why? Why would he waste time on a girl like her? Maybe it was something he could discover someday, though he felt too far gone.

"I know how horrible it is; losing that much." She continued.

"Are we done here?" He asked. Lady nodded, letting him go.

It never was her style to talk about these heavy subjects.

Still, she felt nuances of sympathy.

"Wait . . . When did you-?" She said loudly, but he was already gone. Her cellphone interrupted the long silence moment, " . . . learn my name?"

Lady grabbed the device.  
It was retro, one of those old flip phones that had reliable buttons and a readable screen.

Looking at the ID, it was a client.

"Yeah?" she answered smugly, "Several women missing . . . What does he look like? . . . That's fine, it'll just be longer, then . . . Alright-. I'm on my way."

Lady holstered her phone, and then started heading back towards Devil May Cry shop. It was close to her new destination.

Vergil exhaled strongly.

'What is it about humans that was so worth giving your life for? They constantly seek to destroy themselves, sometimes at an even greater rate when they believe they're the only intellect capable of it.  
It just . . . It just doesn't make sense . . .' Vergil wondered and rounded right, ready to leave and meet up with his next client for the night.

Thank you for reading


	3. The Redhead Demon

The trees in the forest were malady-brown. Grains of poison tarnished the bark and gleamed like witch dust.  
Trolls haunted the sooty coppices, salivating over their prey and smearing blood over their heavy faces.

The decaying air, the stifling atmosphere; it provided the perfect abode for those who worshipped the darkness rather than the light. In the dense shadows, spiders clutched their snare-strings.

Their webs shimmered like meshed steel dipped in silver. Eyes a-flame with hunger, hoping to dine on bloated bodies and gorge on the inner prizes.

It was a primordial forest. Centuries-old trees with sprawling limbs safe-guarded the darkness, blotting out any sunlight.  
Their bark was mottled and splotched, as if boiling oil had been frozen in time on its surface. Numerous, clumpy combs of wet moss dangled from their rotten boughs.  
Underneath this moss, lethal larkspur peppered the mulch-y floor.

A pungent tang oozed from every sentient being in the forest. Lamenting wails ghosted through the trees. Whether it was from victim or victor, only the forest could tell.  
It was truly a place to make one's veins freeze over.  
Everything considered edible in another forest was nauseating here. It left you with the same, sickening sense of your own blood.

This was a forest to be avoided.

A tall, lithe, and tanned woman stood at the edge, with her left hand and fingers curled, then released out several times. Her eyes stared off into the distance without really looking at the view.

She was in a completely different place, mentally.

The matron was dressed in a grey top and pants, going well with her exposed midriff and short white cape that draped over half of her torso.  
She had a pair of brown cowgirl boots that had a strap around her calves. Her skinny jeans were faded a bit but still nimble enough for her to not worry of resistance in her movement.  
Her unusual, vermillion-colored hair was tied into a braid over the left side of her face, giving her a darkened, moody presence.

A sound interrupted the silence of the dark timberlands. Crows flew through the leaves, into the sky, and then made multiple strange squawks, announcing something from the distance.

The woman held unto her daggers, rolled her shoulders back and stiffened her muscles, fully ready. In the dim tree line there was a small, faint glint from one of the daggers.  
Her eyes strained as she scanned the area. Moments of heavy silence were followed with an occasional sound of footsteps that brushed along the forest floor.

There was a clearing in the trees before she and a creature showed themselves. It had wings and backward horns in its forehead. It appeared more decorative, more practical.

Possessing a body of a human but large claws in its hands, it's wings were skin and bone, with visible blood vessels similar to that of a bat.

The woman bared her teeth slightly and was about to charge forward. Suddenly, a blue light rammed itself into the creature. Screeching, it fell face down in the ground trembling.  
The clanging sound of a sword appeared as it carved up flesh from the beast. Black patches of fluid caked several trees.

The unnamed woman's eyes darted through the area to locate the source. In the dark, he appeared; the demon hunter, clasping his katana.

'Dante' knelt down, forcing his knee onto it's ribs, then held the demon's neck in a death grip. Instantly, a loud crack rung out, followed by a forced exhale and the complete collapse of it's windpipe.  
Blood seeped out it's mouth slowly as the skull rocked back to the ground on the left temple, no longer supported by any vertebrae.  
Swiftly drawing Yamato, he drove it through the demon's chest. For added measure, Dante twisted the blade to make the journey into nothingness the absolute opposite of welcoming.

The creature fell lifeless under him.

The woman watched in admiration.

"You called me here." Dante whispered. He watched the woman closely, he could sense the power radiating from within her. She was a demon, but . . . something was a bit off about her. He just couldn't exactly place it.

The lack of intention. There wasn't any interest in conflict. A rare trait that either the most deceptive demons possessed or the friendliest. Type 2 tended not to exist.

"Thank you, for coming." The woman spoke in a thick Eastern European accent. Staying her daggers, she came closer to him. "Deep into the forest, where people went missing. I'm coming with you. And the name is Lucia, if you've forgotten."

Dante pulled a coin from his back pocket. "Let's see how lucky you are." He threw the coin into the air and caught it in the back of his palm. He checked the coin and his lips moved into a half smile.

"It's your lucky day." Dante nodded for the woman to lead him to where they need to go. He felt himself letting go of that old, stern tone, little by little.

The subsequent walk was a calm one, as neither one of them spoke. Lucia noticed the posture of Dante and his choice in attire. All functional and leather.

"It makes the blood easier to wash out." Dante commented as a way to remind her, eyes front. The walk from there remained in silence until they arrived after an hour of walking.

... ..The Lavender road...

Every child in the nearby village had laughed at the forest-lore, passed down by the woodcutters, all those years ago. Now the villagers themselves were gone, swept away by the endless ocean of time, and Dante had known the saying to be true. He had a duty, bound to help. Vergil was more intrigued by the fact that a full-fledged demon would want to help humans.

He watched the demons carefully. Indigo eyes and a waxy, pallor skin marked them out as the flesh-eaters they were.

Spellbound and revolted in equal measure, the half-man glared on as they danced a ghastly ritual around a huge fire, ululating to the beat of a rumbling drum.  
Their large arms were akimbo, their expressions frenzied, and their victims crying, as they dragged the first human towards the pig-spit, a female screaming in fear, crying for help.

The stone-faced Vergil raised his arm. A blue blade bolted through the dark, impaling one of the demons.  
Flying off it's feet, it struggled to release itself from the blade, crashing to the ground and becoming pinned there. Through cyan light, Dante vanished.

'Hmph.' He thought to himself, amused by their feeble attempts to locate him.

The Demon Hunter appeared before the group on their left side. Summoning two azure brands, they hovered behind his shoulders.

A giant, scythe-bearing savage charged solely at the half-breed first, readily eager to consume him down to his bones.

"Careful!" Lucia gave a shout.

Dante grunted in displeasure, annoyed at having failed to successfully get a grip on his opponent, as he ducked the first sweeping attack.

His arctic eyes flaring with an untold ferocity. He immediately cartwheeled onto his side, but it was a second too late.

Lucia's efforts were harmlessly blocked by the reddish shield that emanated from the creature's abyssal core, and within a split second, Dante was imprisoned in the demon's own powers against him.  
His iron muscles tightened, then reflexively loosened, as he tensed for the second attack. The man's sturdy legs parted slightly as he found his balance.

The demon lunged at Lucia then with a speed even a fighter like herself couldn't match. She attempted to dodge, but the blade nicked the side of her neck.  
She crashed through the first row of falling trees, silently cursing the demon. She quickly picked herself up once again, feeling the air at her side whip.

That was all the warning she got.

Mid-turn, she felt something pierce her left shoulder while a firm hand gripped her right one. Pulled, she was hurled back into the scythe's line of fire.  
She bit her lip over the pain threw her knives down toward the creature's feet.

It gave a horrid growl, the scythe severed out of its skeletal grip. The malefic abomination was enraged and far from dead, but that brief distraction was all 'Dante' needed.  
He flipped over the giant scythe, embedded like a ghastly trophy, and his left hand closed over Yamato's hilt.  
Armed thusly, Vergil propelled himself against the pulsing cursed trees and flung himself toward his enemy, stabbing the savage.

Abyssal red eyes flickered, registering its mistake. Rage replaced the fear. One could not afford to underestimate Sparda's offspring.

It was at death's door now, shriveled up and limping.

Lucia charged at the underlings. Several daggers came off her belt and several more were hidden inside her cape. A demon had a dagger in its eye as she sprinted at it full speed.  
Raising her left leg, the slick succubus crushed her boot into the blade, mashing it further in.

She swiped at whomever opposed her. Rapidly, each one of them crumpled to the ground, their souls returning to dust.

By a force-of-habit, Lucia retrieved several of the salvageable daggers. Her eyes glazed over her shoulder to see 'Dante' the victor.

Staring, she kept quiet for a minute, almost forgetting about the inhuman assailents. Almost.

Dante knelt down to check the appearance, they looked strange. Demons he never met before in his many, many years; not even in the Demon Realm proper. He glanced back at Lucia.

She aided those who survived, leading them into the grass nearby.

Something . . . maternal just sort of 'clicked' in her. So, she gave them comfort.

A woman held Lucia's hand and spoke some words that he couldn't understand, at least not from afar. Meanwhile the men were so afraid they couldn't say one thing other than, "Thank you, thank you!"

"You're helping them . . . Why?" He wondered aloud, speculating what kind of answer she might give him.

Lucia secured the humans and assured she would return to them.

Facing him, she approached and said, "Because they are innocent, they deserve to be helped." She looked at him confused. "Are you telling me you are going to leave them if you had the choice?"

"I certainly could, and should walk away. Depends on the situation. It's foolish to play the hero, everything dies eventually." Dante observed the people that rallied together with loved ones.

"I do not understand you. If you think like this, than why take jobs?" Lucia flicked a dagger of blood then holstered it. "Does this mean Sparda was a fool too?"

Vergil heaved a long shudder, he himself didn't understand why he took Dante's place. His company watched the expressions of those grateful, mourning the grateful dead.  
The callous brother looked to the side as his right hand and fingers rested in a pocket. That was new, when did he pick up that habit?

Perhaps a bit of Dante was with him, but this wasn't the time to fidget on the idea.

"Honor that overrules common sense and logic is just another facet of foolishness. I know when to walk away." He frowned in her direction, dropping the pretenses of imitation. Continuing, "And please, don't mention Sparda again."

"You are a strange man, Dante." She shook her head solemnly, and took a step away from him.

"You are a strange woman Lucia." He retorted casually, almost mocking her.

Lucia stood proudly, turning back to him. "I belong to the clan of Vie de Marli. We secure and protect everyone in this land. Maybe, you will learn that someday."

'Dante' crossed his arms, unsure of what to make of this whole event. "Why did you seek my help for this kind of job? Yet, you proved your clan cannot protect your people."

"I wanted to meet you in person and see if the rumors were not lies." She replied. "No matter how tough we are, we cannot handle every demonic entity resided here."

Her english wasn't superb. Every once in a while, she'd say a word wrong.

His frosty demeanor didn't falter at all. Yet, deep down, he wasn't sure how to feel about this.

Never had he encountered these emotions during his time with Mundus. Looking back, he was shielded from it by his darkness, a shroud clotting his mind, diseasing him.

He had preyed after dreaded creatures that could shock anyone into deep-seated fear.  
In the fathomless bowels and dripping basins of the deepest caves in the demon world, they roamed and he quarried.

He'd ascended sky-kissing mountains, look-alike area's and trekked across some of the most jagged, black rocks known to seek out blood-bathed Beowulf brethren.

But this dark forest was different to anywhere he'd been before.  
Hunting after such beasts into dens and burrows, down into grimy pits and through gloomy hollows, couldn't begin to compare to this gullet of madness.

Just being here felt like partaking in an unholy parody of his own knowledge base.

He followed her through the thick grass, silent. They were about to reach a clearing, another place to inspect.

"Stop." Dante warned; a rime-laced, calm tone accompanied the order.

The woman was about to ask. Vergil interrupted with visual cue, placing a finger to his lips. He began motioning silently, and drew his katana. The maneuver was smooth, comfortable.

Lucia analyzed his every, waking movement and reaction. Promptly, she drew her silver short swords, grabbing the hilt tightly.

Trepidatious, she backed away from the path ahead slowly.

"What is going on?" She murmured. She almost never employed contractions. The hybrid didn't answer. His keen, supernatural hearing detected the unmistakable sound of irregular, clawed footsteps. They tore at the humble ground, lacerating the earth beneath each foul step.  
Accompanying them, the low croaking of a horde of demons; they communicated with each other and started moving about, sniffing them out.

Hell Vanguards by what he could tell.

Sensing the duo as prey on the other side, the monsters blasted into their sight inside a flurry of sand. Their barbarous scythes were raised aloft, hungry to seek and destroy tender flesh.

She was the first to react, throwing her recovered, sharp throwing knives with professional accuracy. The fine points found their targets easily.

It was an apparent problem that they did nothing to her intended kill. So, aiming to improvise, the huntress refocused her attention on the lesser demons that started crowding around.

The minimally damaged Vanguard lunged toward Dante, seeing he was the closest target, scythe lifted as it went for his face. The Slayer shoved the blade above his head.  
The strike bounced and ground it's way up against the steel. Having parried the weapon to the side, he forced the monster back and quickly launching a counter assault.  
As it mounted some kind of protective measure, he shifted around faster than it could perceive. With one batting motion, he drove the blade sideways, bisecting his opponent effortless.

Of the three Vanguard, two remained. One sought revenge on Lucia, though the nimble siren easily avoided such attempts, and the other came after the man.

Such as it moved, it teleported beside Dante. Taking advantage of his distraction, it caught him by surprise with a surprise left swing.  
With eyes blazing sinful fire, the dark reaper brought the scythe around wildly in an oval, sidewinder arc. It glanced off his neck, though he managed to duck just barely in time.  
To spite him, the hellish metal grazed his shoulder, leaving trails of blood in it's wake.

His lips twitched slightly, teeth clenching at the sharp pain, he swung back with a devastating flurry, striking the iron numerous times and breaking it's defense with an upward slash.

Bringing the katana back down, he artfully sliced open it's chest, then dashed forward into a climactic stab. It just took one.

Impaled, the monster floated still. It's strange blood dripped down and coated his blade. Such liquid transferred strength, reinforcing the object's fortitude.

It vanished into thin air, leaving behind shrill, malicious laughter.

Just as the Cambion readied to strike again, Yamato's edge slammed into the sandy ground, cutting through nothing.

"You're not worthy as my opponent!" Dante uttered a sharp hiss at the cowardly entity as it re-materialized behind him.

Just as abrupt, without even peeking back, he lunged the Yamato high in the air and executed a rapid-fire combination of slashing strokes with incisive prods.  
His movements were like lightning, ultimately invoking a cerulean blaze from the weapon. The Vanguard's shriek ceased abruptly as it stilled, its hideous features frozen in shock.

It wilted and cracked, breaking apart into ashes that fluttered along and merged with the sand.

The other turned it's gaze upon the man. Vergil smirked and slid back, sheathing the katana. He'd settled into a combat stance, but stayed still. It screeched a coarse clamor,  
feeling something akin to emotion for it's deceased kind. He drew the blade an inch, then waited as it performed it's little scythe dance, readying to teleport. Before it could even begin the process, he shut the blade back into place harshly.

At first, nothing happened. Within a split-second, it's peace was desecrated by the emergence of black and purple light shafts. They burst into the creature's limbs, pinning it into place mid-air.  
It writhed around for a bit, before a sudden, destructive explosion of light as the strange things ruptured into bright blasts, tearing apart and disintegrating it's corpse into mince meat. This, too, faded into ash. Becoming nevermore, the entities returned into their former dimension.

Lucia had vanquished all others, leaving them as husks that dried out, devoured soon by the woods.

"Impressive." She commented. "I should have not expected anything less from Sparda's son."

Dante's eyes glittered with a detached loneliness. He trudged past her, working to move ahead and scout for any more enemies to fight. She followed behind, bewildered by him.

The clearing looked peaceful enough. Standing atop the hill, they watched the dark forest.

"Years ago this forest used to be filled with life." She whispered with a broken fury. "Then the curse engulfed it all . . . Blood was shed in an attempt to retake it. I lost so many people here." She almost choked on the memory.

"You're awfully emotional. Why bother to share after what I said before?" He asked, confused.

Lucia sighed and gazed back at him. "You work and know how to handle Demons. Even if we disagree, you're able to help without drawing soldiers from our people."

Vergil sighed and returned his attention back to the sight before him. He snickered to himself whenever he looked at Lucia.

When she noticed, he spoke to her, "You asked me why I work for humans, why I take 'jobs.'" He kept her in suspense for a bit.

"It's because they know where the Demons are."

The woman rolled her eyes, tired from the ordeal. And the two walked on for the task ahead.

..Thank you for reading I hope you liked this.  
Will...this is my last post.


	4. Shadows of The Past

Vergil stopped to see this new demon before him.

It resembled a cross between a person and an eagle; arms and legs that ended in talons, and a muscular torso covered in fine white feathers.  
The wings extended from both shoulders, feathers both gold and white. A broken set of horns twisted in a thin halo, protruding from his dark face.  
It slightly resembles the fallen he met inside Temen-ni-gru, though far fairer.

'Who's doing this?' He wondered.

The demon yowled at him bloody murder, alerting all the tiny insects that it was there and ready to kill.

Proving he was more than willing to step up to the plate, he prepared his sword in a traditional guard stance.  
He slowed his breath and concentrated to keep his heart beating normally.  
Settling into stone. in front of him, the Demon cocked it's own sword back and the accompanying shield forward. From it's outline emanated a white aura.

'Dante' launched himself, Yamato off his waist, propelling it from the side and upward for a clean slash. He slammed the katana down onto it's shield.  
The blade was almost ripped from his hands as the demon shoved against his weight, leaving him wide open and off balance.  
Swinging it's thick brand, the deceptively angelic being attacked; first across, down, then jumped and came crushing down. Dante ducked, sidestepped, and rolled under in response.

The man struck again with judgment cut twice, only to connect with the demon's shield once more. However, this time, he'd weakened the energy-fueled buckler on contact.  
The sheer degree of force he applied broke it's footing, setting it off balance. After a spate of teeter-tottering, it managed to dodge a sonic slash in the nick of time.  
It took a small moment to place distance between itself and the man. Biding time, the demon remained weary for a small while, staying put until it was the exact right moment.

Hyper-focused, they circled one another for a time.

Suddenly, it lunged, then vaulted up into the air, twisting and swinging the weapon outward. A shockwave burst from the blade, and a long line of grass and sand shattered where the blast connected.  
Vergil felt power flow through him again. He channeled that, projecting his strength into the blade.  
Strengthening his stance, he held his ground, releasing a strike through the air that he turned into a rapid spin.

Swirling faster and faster, he created a whirlwind that offset it's attack, redirecting everything away to the right. He was weaker than he used to be, having actually felt the heat of the shock wave.

Shrugging off the blow, the man straightened himself out.

"Come on!" He yelled, beckoning with his hand.

Once more, the enemy became a blur, soaring towards him. The man dashed forward and struck. Their blades clanked off each other, reverberating through his arms.  
The strength that both possessed had the tips of the blades grind as 'Dante' shoved his sword forward in an attempt to shatter the demon's guard.

It restrained itself, reigning in any attempts to attack so that the man couldn't end things quickly.

They sailed past each other, then turned and began to issue volleys of strikes. The slayer danced around, making the skill of dodging seem like an art form while returning the heat with his own attacks. The thing flinched on each hit and it's left arm got lashed open during the fray. It dropped the shield. Vergil delivered the final blow to the chest.

In the midst of it all, he caught the scent of something unpleasant; something he thought he finished years ago. Behind him, the monster planted face first into the ground.

He saw a purple color between the bushes, then a familiar laugh followed.

It flashed in his mind: The ground was shaking, announcing the spell was broken, and he couldn't catch it fast enough.  
He was swiped fast and slammed up against his younger brother, and just like that, he plunged into the darkness below.

"Arkham?" He whispered as the buffoon revealed himself.

With a roar of fury, the man in red galloped towards . . . Jester. Moving in a blurry line, he lurched a hand back and made a spiteful fist.

The knuckles of his gloved hand connected squarely with the trickster's jaw.  
Rattling a bit, the buffoon fell on his knees, nearly unconscious.

"Wow, easy there devil boy." He mocked, falsifying a deep hurt.

"You filth. Why are you still alive, you warthog-faced buffoon?" Vergil questioned, dangerously cruel.

"Is that how you greet your old friends?" He stood to his feet and bowed. "We shall meet again." And he burst into laughter once again.

"Hey!" Vergil commanded, sending a blue blade his way, however, upon impact, his body popped like a balloon. A huge burst of confetti fell to the ground.

He stopped, grunting out of miserable pain, and placed his hand over his sternum, attempting to calm himself. Was it real?  
Left questioning whether the legitimacy of the encounter was genuine, he simultaneously contemplated if the wound was just that severe that he'd hallucinated.

Whatever the case, the bastard wasn't worth it.

However, Vergil was definitively known for his unforgiving nature, especially to those who betrayed him. The trait created havoc between him and his brother.

This reminded him of so many unspoken words he had. All the things he could have said to his brother, but he had too much pride to do so.

Perhaps it was a fear that it was just seem like juvenile ramblings, that he would come off as some little child begging for mercy.

Children are weak. He was mighty.

. . .

At first, he was already confused about this job, and so now, something definitely strange had occurred here.

Not to mention, it informed him of the fate of his old enemy.

'Dante' made his way back to the other side, where Lucia waited for him with the group. They were unchanged, still grieving and shocked, though less noisy now.

"Thank you, son of Sparda, for clearing up this part for us." She borderline whispered with a soft chuckle. "Now we can build borders and bring life back here.  
You give me hope for a full restoration of the forest in the future."

Vergil tried to force a smile, but only wound up smirking awkwardly. "I could've finished them all, but as you wish. May I ask a question?"

His Dante impression was particularly bad today.

"Go on." Lucia smiled.

"Are you familiar with the name Jester?"

Lucia was silent at first, flipping the name in her mind for a moment.

"No." She answered and gave him a white envelope. "Here is your payment. Please spend the night with us, to rest a bit from your troubles."

He naturally let out a subdued giggle of his own, "I can't."

She seemed disappointed but resigned.

He waved goodbye.

Vergil waited until he was sure no one was there to see him. He gazed up at the dark sky and couldn't see a difference between this and the sky of the demon world.

Something within him was . . . missing. He couldn't just right out say what it was since he couldn't pin point the exact emotion he was feeling.

But, once he finished the opponents, an incompleteness, a sense of loneliness, settled inside of him. It taunted him . . . Corroded him.

Choked him.

"You have a sadness clouding your heart, don't you, son of sparda?"

He kept his hands at the ready but casually neglected to face the voice.

"Have you come to join my solitude? Or are you just another one of these monsters in disguise?" He said.

An old woman approached him, using an old, rotted walking stick to aid her precarious limp.

"My name is Matier."She replied with a familiar gentleness. Just like his own.

Vergil let small smile leak across his face, almost sadistically. "Mother . . . A mother is to be loved."

He cocked his head to the left to face her, his face bathed in shadow, "I don't love you."

The words were biting.

"Your father had the same look when his friend died during the war days." Her remark taunted him, corroded him . . .

The half-breed frowned at the mention of Sparda again. "Kindly refrain from sullying Sparda's memory. Sadness is weakness."

"Even a devil may cry when he loses someone he loves." The old woman replied.

Vergil didn't feel like talking anymore. He raised the back of his hand and signaled her off, then walked away.

He continued until there was another silent, empty clearing within the forest. This one was serene, and somewhat more overgrown than the other patches previously.

The Cambion gazed behind him one last time to make sure the woman did not follow him. His sharp hearing could not detect her footsteps, or any sound at all.

"Good." He said to himself.

He took a breath and his clothes stretched. Four black wings appeared. He still possessed a humanoid face with glowing, orange eyes, black downward horns protrude from the sides of his face.  
Sprouting a pair of twin red blades from his forearms, they appeared flowing like a flame, crafted from his own spirit.

With the stitching ran the wings and other spikes in careful alignment of the shoulder blades.  
It did not rip the clothing from Vergil's body, as had his past experiences, instead building off them to create it's form. In the moment before his judgement, he refocused on the matter at hand.

It was a good taste in clothing to begin with, he'd give the devil his dues on that point. He propelled himself to the sky.

Vergil hovered in the air until he was high enough to see the wide sea. He was ready to return home, perhaps continuing this little experiment, however, the recent events shook him.  
It made energy flow through him in this form.

. . . Back in the city

The bounty collector, Lady, leaned on a crate in the shadows of an adjacent street, almost hidden by the car nearby.  
Her arms were folded across her chest, chin supported in one hand, and she wore a special kind of necklace her mother made for her as a child.

The type to alert her when it came in contact with a demon.

Her soft, voluminous cowl from her poncho covered her head. And as the moon dwindled behind the clouds she stood, silent and still.

It was rare for her to rest her chin like that, especially if she was holding her knife under her sleeve. Which Lady was, the point of it less than an inch from her exposed throat.  
She held herself at knife-point.

And why would she do this? After all, even people like her were not immune to accidents.  
The woman was, however, different. Resting her chin on her strongest arm was an act of deception designed to fool enemies – but she also took a dark delight in courting danger.  
It become part of her nature. And so she sat, with her chin in her hand, on watch and waited.

In an alleyway not far from Lady lurked a fellow by the name of Joseph, or at least thats the name he gave himself.  
He wore a tattered shooting jacket and a broken hat, and he was studying a pocket watch lifted from a gentleman not moments ago.  
Instead of wearing what was neatly made, just anything functional would do for him.

The pocket watch was almost exactly an hour behind true time.

Oblivious to that fact, the man snapped it shut, thinking himself quite the dandy man.  
Next, he eased himself out of the alleyway, looked left and right, then made his way into the dying day of this slowly emptying street.

As he walked, his shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets, he glanced over his shoulder to check that he wasn't being followed.

And? . . . Nothing.

Satisfied, the stranger continued forward.

A bang startled him, but it came from one of the tenements above. He looked up and moved his hat back a bit to get a good look.

He turned to go. In the same moment the mist ahead of him billowed and striding out of it came the eery figure of a woman in white clothes. Her hair was black as ink, it had that consistency too.  
Behind this mop of oil was a warped face that shouldn't have existed. It's glowed ominously blue and a massive, swollen tongue burst from it's mouth.  
It was sickly, covered in burst pustules and veins. More of these warts continued to break open as it wriggled around, almost uncontrollable.

He stood paralyzed, unable to think or move.

Before he could react, the creature lunged at him and clasped onto his arm, attempting to drag him back into the alley where it would perform unspeakable horrors on him.  
Only, instead of striking out, his assailant pulled something from her other arm, and with a soft snick, it attempted to stab him with a bone shard.

A knife bolted into it's forehead, and suddenly he heard another shot. It tore through the side of it's head, macerating a portion of the flapping, oversized tongue that had gotten in the way.

Blood flowed across the cold cement and he stumbled back on his ass. He used his hands to prop himself up.

A bit of the reflection invaded his eyes. There stood Lady, preventing Joseph from an escape.

"Tell me what I need to know, scum, and I'll spare that mug. What do you know of Arkham?" She scowled at him, a glint of hatred simmering beneath the surface of her emotionless face.

"What makes you think I'ma talk?" His eyes glanced to the right, then left, before he shouted loudly. "Someone help! She's trying to kill me!"

He unexpectedly zoomed to his feet and booked it for the safety of the light. This man was also demonic, but possessed a clearly defined gender, unlike most.

Lady swept the demon's legs from beneath him and slammed him to the filthy cobbles.

She sank to his haunches, pinning the demon with his knees as she pulled her weapon, Kalina Ann and pressed it at his face.

"Now, 'little devil,'" Lady grinned, spitefully demeaning him, "Why don't we start with you telling me your real name and what you're doing here? What do you know about Arkham?"

"All right, all right already! I'll talk," squirmed the demon, the point of her knife digging painfully into his flesh. "I hunt potential food for myself around these parts!  
I . . . I heard h-he made a deal with a powerful devil."

She dug that blade in so hard that the tip pierced out the other side. He screeched in a horrible, inhuman pain. He had a scream like Joe Pesci, oddly enough.  
The knife was dipped in holy water, just for him.  
As a weakling, he was peculiar target for other demons. It wasn't uncommon that different types cannibalized the over all species.

After calming himself just a bit, he finished for her.

"Gahheh! D-so, so-so . . . so he can find a way to return among the living!"

She changed her grimace to a smirk of satisfaction and let him go, but as usual the man's body started to stretch and change to long arms with claws in the end.  
Hearing those tendons rip, torn up in him, it quickly lost the illusion of humanity, becoming it's true self.  
The creature charged at her, but Lady barely managed to dash over to the side. The claw missed her by a strand of hair.

It traveled towards a dumpster fire and clumsily stuck it's claw in the green metal.  
She hefted Kalina Ann upon her shoulder and took aim.  
It struggled and suffered as it attempted to rip the limb free before coming to sense a shift in the weather. Turning it's head, 'Joseph' gazed upon the barrel.

She pulled the trigger and it blew apart in brilliant orange fireballs. From the center, it's detached head slammed back down into the remains of the demon before they all dropped.

"Idiot." She whispered.

A moment of weakness befell her knees, and she heaved a long breath. Dreading the thought that she had to go through this again.

Just when she thought her life was getting better, finally moving on and up, up and away, she'd breathed his poisonous breath.

Every time she remembers him, an image of her mother flashes in her mind. Her cold corpse in the back door. It wouldn't leave her head.

He followed her and delivered the final blow to the head.

"You bastard!" She exclaimed, hopeless. "Why do you refuse to die?"

It settled, all the evidence referenced for his return, but not a normal human. For days, Lady wondered if she should tell Dante about this, but she brushed it off for the last time.  
This is her problem, and she had to take care of it alone. No more would she accept his help. This was something psychological; perhaps due to the feeling that it was Dante who got him, in the end.  
One more time, and take her life back for good.

Lady dusted herself lazily and went back to her home. The area echoed from the clap of her shoes. The street was that empty.

. . . Her mind flashed

Lady sat alone and listened to the rain outside.

Her living room was cozy and well-lit a fire crackled in the chimney in front of her. The rain droplets drifted down the windows to make the outside look distorted.  
The glow of the lights, too, seemed brighter than usual behind this cascade.

She remembered.

"Is it about your father?" Kalina asked as she put her arm on her eyes.

The name alone brought Mary a serious worry, although she was good with masking her expressions from her mom, the pounding of her heart would always give her away. It was too loud.

"Yeah . . . he's not himself anymore! He keeps-. . . reading those books, barely speaking to us." she paused for a moment. "I see the way he looks around, it's like we don't matter. We're lesser than him." Mary stopped when she felt her mother's warm hand on her cheek.

"Darling, your father can be hard sometimes but he is a good person." The sooth turned to resentment.

Lady gritted her teeth and threw something in the fire. She still loved him, trusting that clear face was still easy. He was just having a problem.

Then, the bastard killed her, just like that.

Using her blood for his dark rituals. If only she looked over her more, maybe, just maybe, she would have been alive today.  
It's true Lady felt partially guilty for her mother's death, the lone survivor of her family.  
And all of her frustrations were taken out on those ugly demons who showed up from time to time. That kept her sane . . . for a time.

. . . She forced her mind to return

She left the couch. Walking to see the hollow existence that served her, the kitchen was pristine, filled with the newest stuff.

Lady drank some cold water from the sink and she made her way back to the living room.

Many people thought that she was a perfectly strong, fearless huntress. The one who couldn't let anything get to her, but she never was and never would be.  
It's a mask to protect herself, so she wouldn't fall apart.  
That's how it was, that was what let her pull the trigger, putting that bullet into her dad's skull.

Hunters like her are the knights of this city today. But, that was too short-lived to even have the time to adjust.

She had to take care of him one more time and take her life back.

Enough is enough.

According to her sources, he was not fully himself yet.

Making a deal with some demon, somewhere, he have to keep doing errands for an amount of time in order to gain new powers and be free.

It would be different now. He was still human through it all, but that was before. This time, he would be returned as a full-blood.

In the moment, to herself, she pondered over giving all her weapons a proper cleaning. It'd been a while. She knew that everything was still in the best shape it was . . .  
This was more of a battle against certain compulsions. If the bullets are the proper types, the ordinance to blow away the larger targets and such-

It ran through her mind again and again.

Lady checked the weapons in her belts one more time, for she had many, and before she chose to go out in the street.

She'd probably hunt for more, just to calm her nerves.

Going to the front door, this time, the woman chose a pair of black shoes, perfect for walking around. Her boots caused her heel-pain after a while, but she loved them anyway

Lady took a deep breath one more time, sighing to try and destress her lungs. She held the key and turned.

The scared maiden wandered carefully.

Alone in a deathly silent street, everybody inside their homes, away from the rain. With the expectation of a few pedestrians with their umbrellas, it was a virtual ghost town.

She rounded right toward an empty street, where a certain gaggle of demons usually roam.

This street contained lots of empty storage spaces and an old block of abandoned homes that were rusted by the adjacent sea. The walk didn't seem long since she stared at the sky as she went.

The rain drops occasionally fell on her cheek, leaving that unmistakable smell around her. She saw the beach in the distance. The night air appeared to be quite welcoming now.  
Several star clusters were on display for her to see, since there was no light by the sea, and the rest was covered with clouds. This gave the sky a unique, reddish-aegean tone. The mix was beautiful.  
Usually, when out patrolling, the stars were an omen, that something was about to happen. She hoped so hard it wasn't now.

The sand gave way beneath her other, black boots. They were smoother, more comfortable. It begged the question why didn't just wear these, though they lacked heals of her others.  
Without them, she was a good deal noticeably shorter, though still taller than the average height of a woman.

She removed them from her feet to place her toes in the damp sand.

The woman laid down without much care: clothing could be cleaned.

Lady shut her eyes, allowing her troubled soul to relax and enjoy the breeze. Just to hear the ocean waves crash along the shore, peppering her soft soles with foam every time it broke.

Lady stayed like this for a long, good passage of time.

After things had set in, her relaxation was interrupted.

Deep in her gut she sensed something was not right. She pulled herself to a sitting position and gazed around. She wasn't sure how long she zoned out but it must not have been very long.  
The new dawn's light could be seen in the distance. It was weird. She was seriously tired but didn't feel like sleeping. There was too much going on in her mind right now. To this very day, she continued to imagine what her life could have been, if her father never was fascinated with Sparda.

Still this tragedy gave her something good.

She will always be grateful for meeting Dante inside the dark tower.  
.....................

Thank you for reading..


	5. Protection

* * *

The sun had risen across the city, painting the jagged horizon in shades of gold and cyan.  
The winding blacktop snaked through the remaining darkness, surrounded by shadowed hills that towered into the cloudless sky, stretching toward the first faint glimmerings of the sunlight.

That soon changed, as, slowly, clouds gathered. Vergil might have appreciated the view a bit more if he wasn't so goddamn tired.

Physically and mentally.

He'd made it to Dante's shop, sure, but he'd been wondering how he might continue down this path.

Becoming Dante, stealing his life and answering his calls; as if the two of them are one.

Could he really make it? At least for an amount of time. Before he leave and be in his own path.

The mercenary kept walking under a reticent sun, half-shrouded by a silky gray screen of moisture; he was actually glad to be back in the city.  
Despite the severe uncertainty and frustration, it felt right to be here.

"It was clear just half an hour ago." Vergil whispered.

Surprised that a change in the weather would make him wonder, it occurred to him. Had it been that long since he left the human world?

He can stay in the shop and be safe for a while.

At the same time, Vergil pondered of what his younger twin did during his free time.

The red mercenary's black boots echoed in the empty streets. Both Vergil's hands explored the coat pockets to discover it had a leather finish that served to relax his fingers.  
He smirked to himself at how Dante would dedicate so much to personal comfort above cost.  
His bangs drifted over his left eye, so he blew it out of the way. They revealed a sight he recognized very much.

The neon lights of Dante's studio.

His double doors creaked open as the humble, dark-colored interior office somberly resonated from his boots. The chestnut wood flooring and the lack of overall furniture didn't help at all.  
Vergil figured that the next time he gets paid, he should get something to decorate the place.

Like a replacement jukebox.

Maybe get something of the old 50s vibe?

No way. Dante would never want something so dull. So if he wouldn't neither would he.

But this place need to look more professional. Maybe some signed posters of some obscure rock bands?  
Oh! He could swap out music in the jukebox for something that matched.  
Vergil skimmed through the possibilities as he brushed his red coat off his shoulders. The light of the sun illuminated everything inside . . .

With nothing else to stare at, he crashed onto the chair and placed his head upon his arms, across the desk. His body felt tired and heavy, a little too abnormal for someone like him.  
He was always in shape. Stand up and fight, hold that prideful stance.  
But not this time. Maybe it felt strange because he actually  _could_  rest. Injuries need time to fully heal, perhaps someone like him wasn't an expectation after all.

Vergil contorted his face in frustration. The humiliation he went through won't be forgotten.

'I will get my revenge. With my own hands.'

His eyes caught the sight of Sparda's sword, still in its pure form, hanging there. The power he always desired right there before him, but he couldn't use it. Something stopped him.

Why did he feel like this now? Why didn't he feel free of the burden and shame that hung on his shoulders?  
Couldn't he be proud of the fact that the sword, in its pure form, could be his to claim and become a dominant demonic baron.

This would easily restore what he felt he'd lost; dignity.

Might controls everything, and without strength, you cannot protect anything, let alone yourself.

Right . . . ?

Vergil slowly sat up and felt his bones ache somewhat. He decided to stretch himself out, standing up as head several cracks and pops emanate out of his joints.  
For now, he made up his mind to hide the weapon somewhere in the shop, to be safe from anyone who might try to steal it . . . Come to think of it, that might be why there's not much furniture.  
Anyway, the Cambion never took reckless chances. Not sure how much this place could be safe from any sudden attack, and the front door was without a key.

It's just so foreign to him. Dante would be ready for anything that would impede his path.

He couldn't decide if this irritating recklessness is what was at the core of Dante, or maybe he was protecting himself with some spell.

There's just  _no way_ , he cannot be that reckless!

Vergil touched the hilt and felt a shiver run down his spine. For a moment, his eyes stared at the reflection in the red jewels, their perfect amulets united.

'Even a devil may cry when he loses someone he loves.' The woman's words rattled his mind nonstop.

'Your father had the same look when his friend died during the war days."

"No, I'm not sad." He shamed himself and went to access the rest of the shop.

..The Lavender Road..

A cold sweat dripped upon her head. Not the sweat from running, but the sweat from anxiety.

Her heart pounded like a drum.  
She flickered her eyes uncontrollably.  
Was it there? The girl thought she saw something moving, but it was just her imagination.

Then it was there again. She wiped her eyes so she could see straight.

Suddenly, a sound creaked up on her! It made her heart bolt forward twenty beats.

She felt that she wasn't alone. Two shadows collided in front of her eyes. Two yellow, glaring orbs stared her down.

"No!" She screamed and ran away, her blonde hair lost in the wind.

The girl didn't care about where she was going. Her life is the goal here.  
Her legs led her to an exposed dumpster nearby.  
Against her better judgment, she chose to jump in and hide.

Just hide until it's safe to leave and return home. It was still early morning, so there weren't many people up and about yet.

The girl brought her knees close to her chest and held them with her crossed arms. Breath caught in her throat, the dread choking her like a thick fog, blocking all rational thought.  
Her boots remained rooted to the spot, unwilling to move. The only thing she could hear was her breathing which was coming out in shallow gasps.

So she clasped her hand over her mouth in the hopes it would silence the noise.

Now all she could hear was her heart beating.

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

It kept on drumming irregular, like she was on an amphetamine.

Thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump thump

It.

Wouldn't.

Stop.

Seconds went by, like long, painful hours.

She whispered, "Why me?"

"Patty!" A smooth, friendly male voice called out to her. "Are you in there? It's okay."

The girl's face brightened as she jumped and ran toward the source of the voice.

"Martin!" she embraced him in tears. "Someone's following me."

Patty felt the man hold her shoulders and kneel down to look at her. "Why are you out at this hour?"

"I was...I thought I heard . . ." She stuttered. "Never mind." Something about the way Martin would scan his surroundings with his eyes.

Patty looked to the ground to not alarm him on her observation.

"I have good news for you. Let's go back home now. We have to hurry." Martin put his hand on her shoulder to lead her away.

"Okay?" she raised her left eyebrow.

Patty Lowell was nine years old, but a free thinker. She was greater than her contemporaries and part of the orphanage downtown.  
The two went left and over into a busier street. The orphanage was not too far from where they are.

As soon as she was close to her building, she set one foot on the sidewalk. Hoots and cheers suddenly abounded, and the sleeping crowd became fully awake and aware.  
Rapidly, reporters and cameramen from few multimedia and mass communication agencies pushed and prodded at each other.

Half stood, and half sat to get a better view of the girl.

"There she is, the lucky child," and their cameras started flashing over and over.

Martin held the girl close to his waist and started moving in a hurry.

"You gotta get out of here, now!" he shouted and rushed the front mahogany door. The young blonde fell inside, but she didn't wait for a moment.

"What's going on?" She bombarded him with more questions as two women waited to close a door.  
In the front of the desk, a middle-aged man was wearing a grey suit and a hat. Next to him was a woman with short blonde hair watching her with a smile.

The handler of the orphanage left her desk, with a gentle smile gracing her face. "Oh, Patty, I hate to see you leave, but it's for the best."

"What!?"

"Ahem! Miss Lowell, my name is Morrison. It's nice to meet you." The man came forward. "You are the heiress of the recently departed Morgan Lowell.  
I was called here to take you to someone who'll protect you. He can get you to you new home safely."

Patty was silent for a moment. Trying to process what she just heard.

A home of her own? An heiress to whose wealth?

"Are you serious?" Patty blinked several times while she absorbed the information. Much of what happened earlier felt like, whatever questions she had, were ignored.

The middle-aged woman bent over and embraced her. "I'm going to miss you, honey. Go on now, don't forget us okay?"

This woman was bit . . . too eager to get her out the door.

Patty felt tears threatening to roll down.

"I won't I promise."

Morrison held her hand and started walking with her to the front door.  
Patty gazed back at those she'd grown up with one last time. The trio of women waved goodbye, and one of them blew a kiss her way.

"Once I open that door, we run to the car." Morrison commented.

Though anxious, she was ready, "Yes."

With a breath, the man opened the exit, and immediately, shouts filled the air.

"Miss Lowell what can you tell us?"

"Over here, just one picture please!"

"How does it feel to change from an orphan girl to a millionaire?"

"Miss Lowell, can we get an exposé on the conditions of the orphanage?"

Several of the orphanage staff stood in the way of the crowd. The constant flashes of light made it difficult for her to walk in a straight line.  
Martin shoved journalist of the way and kept her close.  
Patty looked down at the ground and started running toward the light blue car. Martin opened the door, and she jumped in.

The photographers gathered around him as he walked around to the driver's seat.

"No comment." he scowled at them before entering his car. The drive was mostly silent. Patty rested her head on the window and continuously observed the street.

It was hypnotic to watch all the lights, and so she eventually began to fall asleep.

"Mommy?" she whispered half-awake.

Patty wanted nothing more than to know the truth of what happened and why she was left behind.  
Knowing her relation to a wealthy man is even more confusing.

Eventually, a second car began following closely. She recognized Morrison in the back seat when his vehicle passed theirs.

Lost in contemplation, she did not even realize the ride was over.

"We're here."

Patty opened the door and stared at the building before her.  
The neon sign flickered ever so often with the logo of a woman holding two guns.

"Devil May Cry?" she said loud enough for Morrison and Martin to hear.

"Yeah. Come on in." Morrison said and went over the steps to the front door with Martin following behind.

"Whatever you see, whatever you hear from the man who lives here, don't take it to heart. It's just the way he is."  
He commented one last time before opening the door.

The first sight either one saw was Dante settling on the chair with his arms crossed.

"Morning Dante. I have a job for you." The middle-aged agent spoke casually.

Patty entered with a proud smile on her face and waited for the man to say something.

"Yes?" He replied simply.

Morrison was silent for a moment, a bit surprised by the complete lack of reaction. Maybe it was just a slow start tot he day.

"Cinderella girl, heiress to the Lowell family fortune. You were asked to be her bodyguard and take her home safely today." Morrison said, confident in the appeal of the job to Dante.

However, he did not respond. He didn't even speak. His face retained a perpetual pinched look, and his eyes were cold.

He stared at the girl then returned to the man before him.

"I won't accept it." He shook his head. "My job's to investigate any strange entities that causes problems and spread needless chaos."

Patty's face changed slightly to worry.

She came closer to the desk and placed her left hand over it. "But it's not about this alone. For three days I've been haunted by strange, scary encounters."

Dante leaned in and placed his head on his left hand, he stared at her with unknown observation.

After a moment, he said, "What kind of encounters?"

"Wha . . ." She was taken aback by his question. "W-Well, sometimes I hear someone calling me, and when I try to find it, I see just shadows. I didn't see what they looked like, I'm too afraid to. Sometimes I get a strange feeling in my eyes, followed by the sensation that I'm just floating in water. Right in front of my bed I see something red with yellow eyes, watching me.  
While I try to fall asleep. It wonders what it wants to do to me, plotting it out like some monster. Please, please, please, please help me." She nearly cried, the warble in her voice so prevalent.

He sighed to himself.

"Right. Do you have a scar on your right arm?" Dante said.

Patty rubbed her forehead for a moment.

"Ye..yeah." Reluctantly, she lifted her sleeves and showed her forearm to him.

Near her elbow, there was a long, spindly, crack of dark lines.

"Miss Lawlor,"

"Lowell." Morrison corrected.

"Lowell, if they didn't bring you here to me, you would have been in a seriously bad situation." He left the chair and came over to her.

Kneeling down, he examined the scar more closely, telling her, "You're marked. and it will not stop until it catches you, judging by the length of the scar. Your description also matches up."

Patty just stood there watching him, mouth half-gaping. The man touched her forehead. "You have a fever too. Rest on the couch."

He tilted his head and signaled her to move.

Vergil caught something in the girl's face for a moment; he could swear there was red color in her cheeks before nodding her head and walking over to the couch.

"What was that all about?" Morrison asked, weirded out a bit. This was not Dante's style by any means, so he eyed his partner carefully.

"What?" Dante shrugged. "This is the job."

The red mercenary went past his agent to the desk. "Give me her new address. I'll take her later on, but she can't leave at the moment, not until I find the one who marked her."

Morrison rubbed his temple.

Dante was a tough one to figure out. "Are you feeling well today, partner? Seems like you're . . . strange."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Now give me the address, please. There's no time to waste." Dante took out the notepad and pulled a pen off the desk.

Morrison shrugged, "Alright."

"Have they sent the payment?" Dante asked.

"Hm? Yeah, five grand, then twenty more when this is over. I'm counting on you." He waved goodbye and went for the front door. "She's gotta be home by nightfall."

"Goodbye and good luck, Patty." Martin proclaimed happily on his way out.

Once the door closed, awkward silence fell between the two. Dante sat back on the chair and looked down at the paper where he wrote the address.

"I know about demons." Patty broke the silence. "You don't have to hide it from me."

'Dante' stared at her, not letting any emotion creep to the surface. He didn't say anything at first.  
Why would a human child know about this? The world's going to hell, he supposed.

"A child like you shouldn't have to be subjected to something beyond their understanding." He commented.

She glowered at him.

"Really?"

The man looked at her sternly, but then thought better of it. "One of the many things I hate the most is dishonorable means to achieve something, cheating; you just happen to be the subject of such a method."

That person should own up to what they did, and pay the price for it.  
Ideology that the eldest son of Sparda truly believed in.

"You're a kind man. My first name is Patty. Don't forget that either, okay?" the little girl commented.

Dante avoided looking at her and just returned to check the things upon the desk.  
Praise from a human? that's a first.

"I have to be home soon." Patty said.

He looked back up at her and chuckled under his breath.

"Don't fear."He replied. "I'll get you there."

He took a breath and laid his head down upon the desk.

_**...In another part of the city, the huntress was moving...** _

_"Keep going, now!" Lady shouted and the driver hit the gas, whipping the military car around a tight corner as gunfire thundered through the cold, Maine night._  
_Lady had spotted the two huge demons only a moment before, which had barely given her enough time to get ready for this._

They were damn near colossal, and red skinned. Basalt spikes adorned their chins and forehead, while their wings appeared singed off.  
No doubt, a few missiles were responsible for the grounding.

Whoever was on their ass - the local cops - it didn't matter, it was the only way for them to survive.

"Get us to cover! Over there!" Lady called, somehow managing to sound cool and controlled even as the bullets of her weapons boomed through the air.

Lady felt scattered, her thoughts racing and jumbled; she kicked ass on every job she took, but she was still disturbed by the information she gathered on her father.  
Her mind was occupied and she couldn't help it.

It had been too long since the bounty hunter felt such a rush in the early morning. The explosion of metal and shattering glass behind them was so close that Lady's heart skipped a beat.  
She turned, looked out the back with the others, and saw that one of the monsters had crashed into a car. It had been in their way, though luckily, the driver swerved.

They themselves had probably come within a second or two of bashing into the vehicle, and she would probably have fallen off from the force.

She caught just a glimpse of a crumpled hood, of broken windows and a stream of oily smoke. She leveled Kalina Ann out the side like a turret again and started firing shot after shot in their way.

Shrieking around the corner, the chase continued.

"Sorry 'bout that!" the man called back to her, sounding anything but calm; he seemed wired with adrenaline-pumped glee. She'd discovered that he would make jokes about pretty much anything.  
It was simultaneously his most likable and most annoying trait. Reminded her a bit of her other partner, Dante and his ways.

"Brace yourself for the impact. Mister John, just past the next turn, bring us to a stop. Hit and run, alright?" Lady told him sharply.

Their pursuant creatures screeched and jumped forward, drawing closer to the car.

She did her best to slow them with her weapon.

John was pumping the accelerator while mounting up for a stop. These mindless beasts were about to get hit by about a ton and a half of fast-moving steel.

Lady inhaled and exhaled deeply, relaxing her muscles as best she could. The squeal of the brakes came up fast from behind and . . .

Wham.

Violent motion, a sense of incredible vibration, a second that seemed to stretch for an endless and silent eternity . . . and the noise coming immediately after.  
A cracking windshield and the sound of a tin can being crushed amplified a million times.  
Lady was jerked forward and back, hearing John emit a strangled gasp. She pressed those thick legs down in a squat and jumped off the car, dragging him along.

The demons cycled with their strange legs at full speed.

Both entities collided with the jostling hunk of metal, with the double impact catapulting them over the car.

From below, Lady smirked cockily and hefted Kalina Ann on her shoulder again, firing the missile. It rocketed out, flying directly towards them. It missed, flying slightly past both, right between them.  
Indeed, the savages weighed a significant amount, as their velocity carried the vehicle above over their backs in a triple flip. The gas tank was exposed.

So the rogue projectile didn't go far, crashing behind the ferocious duo.

Firstly, jagged metal contorted and detonated outward, impaling themselves into the demonic flesh instantly.  
Secondly, a swirling ball of concussive flames erupted around it's targets.

Ensnared, they writhed around as their blood boiled them alive, bursting from the skin as it bubbled and popped.  
At once, they cooked into a sickening miasma, painting the inferno a dazzling blue and red, almost burning it's light brighter than any normal fire.

Mixed in were their final cries. Smothering the skies, it hissed like someone put a gaggle of live snakes in a blender.

It was like a twisted marriage of the beatific and the horrific.

The remains sailed on and on, collapsing some ways away.

Lady lowered her weapon and sighed.

"That was amazing, it's been awhile since I took a thrilling job."

However, her client felt differently, as he was slumped over the bushes near her. Vomit covered the ground and flecks of it dotted his face and shirt.  
The man lazily brushed this off, annoyed by it more than anything.

"You're a brute, Lady." He mumbled the words. "Who would date you?"

Slowly he raised his hand with a cash.

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Thanks, I take that as a compliment. You'll live longer if you don't say things like that."

Laughing, she took her payment and walked away, somewhere close to happy.

The truth is, Lady didn't think much about dating.

It's never been an issue.

She liked her life the way it was . . . at least for now. Perhaps someday she'll meet someone worth her time.  
Not the current batch of losers; they couldn't handle a tough . . . Well, a tough Lady.

Her happy expression darkened.

She remembered her dream last night. Worrying about a dream is just dumb, but what pulled her back to this one was a solitary reason.

Him.

. . .

A bright light appeared. So lustrous, she had never seen anything like it before.

Then, she was falling. The sudden rush of air came from nowhere. The glow went out, and all around her was pitch black; all she could do was hold onto herself.

A familiar, cacophonous laugh punctured her eardrums. " **Time for bed Mary! _You can visit your dear mother._** "

"You bastard!" She screamed as hard she could. But there was nothing she could do to defend against it. From beyond, in some place that was nowhere, a hand grabbed onto her and pulled her up.

She stood on solid ground, shivering. Once her vision cleared, there was a royal blue coat in front of her, worn by a man with swept back, silver hair.

"Vergil?" The woman whispered to herself.

The Devil looked back at her, tilting his head to the side slightly. With barely a smile, he drew Yamato, charging forward to the silhouette of a clown.

The man rocketed forward with barely restrained contempt.

. . .

What made her think about him all of sudden? The eldest son of Sparda has been dead for almost a decade now. Not to mention it was for the best. They put a crazy out of his misery so he wouldn't do anymore damage . . . Poor Dante.

She took a left, ready to head back to the city. Ready to be home.

"The sword, that must be it." She talked aloud to herself. "I saw Dante using it. Must have played with my mind, that's all."

Anything to reassure herself now would be greatly appreciated.

Her cellphone started ringing loudly, startling the woman out of her head.  
She took a deep breath in, allowing herself a moment to breath, and then exhaled. She removed the device from her pocket.

The screen displayed a name that made her smile a bit.

She answered, bringing the phone to her ear. "What's up Dante? If you're calling for a job I ha-"

"-I'm not Dante." On the other end, a small girl's concerned voice interrupted her. "Are you his friend? You have to come to the office, something's wrong with him!"

She was immediately unnerved, something wasn't right.

"Wait, what? What do you mean, who is this!?" Lady asked, her back tingling.

"My name's Patty. He was hired to protect me, but-" The little girl paused. "Please, please come."

"O-Okay, sit tight! I'm on my way." Lady answered, confused and worried.

..

**...Thank you for reading.. Please leave a comment, tell me what you think?**


	6. Cronos

Vergil's head hurt for awhile.

He'd been half-dreaming, remembering things, reliving parts of his history out of order, until the faraway sound of thunder surged through his skull, pulling him closer to wakefulness.  
The man dreamt about his actions over the past two days. Even though an almost-conscious part of him knew it was reality, it still seemed too incredible to be true.  
Flashes of what had happened, post-Mallet Island, kept rising to the surface. Images of the demon lord and his strict rules, his clever ways to control, had stalked him through the devastation.

Mundus was vindictive being. So he often put Vergil through the most horrifying torture, and demeaned him through lowly tasks or objectives that were purposefully beyond his reach.  
Memories of his childhood tormenting him; meeting Dante again after so long. He'd long been hoping to be killed and freed from this slavery.

Thunder again, louder. He realized something was wrong.

But couldn't seem to wake up, to stop himself from remembering.

First, he was tired, and his bones ached often.  
Secondly, he was freezing now, and his head throbbed, yet he didn't know why.

What happened?

When did he fall asleep to begin with?

He concentrated, but it would only come in pieces, pictures and thoughts plucked from the day. He couldn't seem to control their flow.  
It was like watching a movie in a dream, every still jerkily edited.  
Images of Dante's corpse saddled in his arms, walking in that forest with Lucia, the voice of his mother telling him it's going to be okay, and his sense to cry right at that moment.

No. That was not normal. Something demonic did this to him. And he knew just who to blame. It's that bastard's effect...Now that he remembered.

"You alright, Dante?" He heard a feminine voice. A bit deep, but friendly.

He opened his eyes.

There she was again, Arkham's spawn. She looked down upon him, something that instantly got under his skin.

"I told you! He'd been like this for almost half an a hour." He heard that little girl's voice. It was filled with concern. What was her name again? Patricia? Pamela? Partition? Patty. That was it.

A second later, he felt a smooth hand graze his forehead.

"Come on, say something here, rockstar. Is this also a new thing?" Mary spoke to him again. The devil huntress couldn't hide her confusion once she returned to this place.

Dante wasn't the same anymore.

He bit his lip and forced himself to a sitting position. Grunting into a sigh, he said, "I'm fine. I just needed a nap is all."

"No you're not, you look pale!" Lady argued.

"I'm always pale! Get off my back, would ya?" He'd become a little more adept at impersonation, it seemed. Vergil's eyes then drifted to Patty.

"It's almost time. You better get ready to leave, so pack for anything. But, I warn you. It's gonna be a tough road."

Patty's eyes glowed slightly, before she nodded. "Yes sir." He still commanded plenty of respect despite his persona's reputation. So she ran off to do so, leaving them to their devices.

Lady slammed her hand over the desk, angry at her would-be partner. "Stop ignoring me."

'Dante's' face plunged into a frown. "What do you want from me, Mary? I'm doing my-"

The mention of the name once again sent her over the edge. She rounded over the desk and grabbed him by the collar. "You dare say it again!? What is wrong with you? I fucking told you to never say that again! You may be powerful but I'll put you underground for that, I swear to god!" She spat at him, absolutely livid.

"Mention my name again and we're done. We'll settle it with a fight." Her voice inhabited something fierce.

Vergil grabbed her hands roughly, to where she could feel her wrists flare up in pain. He was staring at her unblinking; a challenge.

A reaction she never expected from him.

"Do you really think I'm going to tolerate that behavior from you? Do you!? You're sadly mistaken, now either leave or stop whining. You stupid, little girl." He answered her fury with his own sneer. Deep down, he held back the urge to disintegrate her.

He could at least deal with humans now, as much as he needed to . . . But never, would he ever, tolerate disrespect. That much was something he could never do, even if he tried.

Why would Dante even think of allowing this human to disregard him so? Why would he lower himself and take it? Or was he that desperate to be . . . accepted by her?

"What did you just call me?" She replied softly.

"You heard me. Are you that much of a coward that you'd abandon your own name? What a soldier you are, really." He was watching her, mocking her; his lips moved to a smirk.

He couldn't help it.

"What?" Rage flushed her face, her hand still hanging in the air under his grip.

"If you were true to who you are, you would announce it proudly: I am Mary, Arkham's daughter. I'm still standing and stronger than ever. But I suppose he broke your spirit, didn't he? You're weak.  
What are you running from? Does anyone know?"  
He shook his head, disappointed, and let go of her hands. By the expression etched on her face, he'd pushed her into silence.

It seemed to be the first time someone had confronted her about this.

Lady's eyes stared into his blackened pupils. A tear fell from her eye onto his umber desk. She let out an angry shout as she slapped him across the face.

Her hand damn near broke.

It appeared to barely affect him, as he quickly looked back at her with that same vendetta.

Vergil scoffed at her, and so went to grab his artillery. He went passed her, and though he hesitated when he looked at it, he took Dante's black guitar case.  
He strode to the front door, where he waited for the little girl. Eventually, five minutes went by and she exited his upstairs, a cute little suitcase in hand.  
The man greeted her like an estranged parent, then pulled something from the side of the double door entrance.

It was a black umbrella. "Alright. You ready?" He asked, to which she responded with an enthusiastic, affirmative nod.

He gave her his very first smile and lightly grabbed her hand. "Okay then, lets go, Miss Lowell." He spoke.

Opening the front door, they stepped out into the cold rain. He quickly opened the large parasol.

Patty silently felt his cold skin against hers.  
She didn't quite understand why he felt this way to her.

"Are we going to walk?" She asked. The duo stepped down the gothic stairs, and down onto the sidewalk.

"I'm afraid so. There's no other choice. So, for your safety . . ."

Patty swallowed a lump in her throat, worried.

The sound of the water drops against the umbrella were akin to Uzi bullets striking concrete.  
She took out her necklace once again and opened the pendent to see her precious picture that she'd kept over the years. Her though process was that perhaps this would comfort her during this tough time.

"Is that a picture of your mother?" Dante asked.

Her head shot up, almost forgetting that he was even there. The grey skies clouded the city's appeal from her.

"Yes." She answered. "I don't- . . . I can't remember anything about her. All I have is this picture."

"She looks like she was a classy Lady." Patty heard him speak this softly, and a smile graced her face. "Thank you." she replied.

The two took a turn to an alley and went ahead for a minute.

Ever so often Vergil would hear the faint sound of heavy footsteps following them, just like he expected.

His hand tightened around her. "We better move a bit faster, you can't trust these back alleys nowadays." He said, pushing her forward to the light up ahead. Patty obliged without a question. Fear nagged at her brain. She could see the shadows again.

They reached the end of the passage at least, and he moved her behind him. "Hey, you have to listen to me here, okay?"

She gave him another silent nod.

"Okay. You have to go hide in that bush over there. Ya see it?"

She looked around and eventually managed to find what he was talking about, so the girl looked back at him and nodded again.

"Good. Do not look up or walk out until I say so, understood?"

"Yes." She whispered.

The man felt close to her, much closer than that Lady. Patty was almost like a friend now, she could trust him, or at least was beginning to, and he didn't know how to feel about that just yet.

Nevertheless, he told her, "Great, now go."

She ran over to the bench nearby, and, sneaking under, she managed to crawl inside the relatively dry bushes.

He stood in front of the pathway's opening and simply waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Thankfully, he didn't have to wait any longer. 'There you are. I knew it.' Vergil thought to himself

"What do you want, Demon Scum?" His voice rang deep and coarse; all venom and brimstone.

Patty didn't really want to see who he was talking to, so she just stayed hidden.

A crimson-clad devil with green scales showed itself casually. It looked at him through yellow, reptilian eyes and strode over to the unimpressed hunter with a smart-ass swagger.

"Hey there, dear boy. Can't you at least just once pretend you're glad to see me?" The demon growled so frustrated.

"My excitement knows no bounds." Vergil's voice was cold, sarcastic . . . blood-chilling.

He oozed a dark, rage-filled aura.

"Well, I'm happy to see you in one piece too. It's been soooo long. I've been itching to give you a suitable bash. Literally." The demon's lips quirked in a dreadful cheer. "I wonder. What's with the change of cloths?"

"Likewise. Are you trying to mock my brother with that getup? I can't contain my exhilaration any longer, Orzoth." Vergil replied, undercut with a cynical tone.

The brutal Orzoth, a figure from his past he wouldn't ever forget.

. . .

Loud cries of a child echoed through outside the cold night. Vergil struggled against the grip of the demon. Literally, it dragged him without much effort.

The boy's hands were pulled behind his back. His cheeks stained with his hot tears.

"You are all mine boy." The hideous creature spoke into his ear. It threw him savagely against the ground.

Vergil stared at his tormenter, drops streaming from the corner of his eyes. Terrified, he jumbled various options of escape.

At last, thinking of his mother and how worried she must be right now, a spark lit itself from within. . .And a devil awakened inside him.

. . .

That was a time when he was forced to live in the demon world, alone for 2 years. Exposed to all kinds of horror a kid like him should not've seen.

At least, not until he matured enough. Black energy erupted from him, sending a gloaming pillar high into the sky.

It could sense him. He was beyond what he was all those years ago.

"You aren't going to change to your form? That's hardly fair now, isn't it? Aren't you going to prove yourself sporting?"

"Funny, I've never heard you complain before. Or have you lost your edge, Orzoth?" Vergil's stone mouth was shadowed with a pale grin.

Against his power, it glowed like a ghost.

Orzoth's smile vanished as he slowly mounted his stance, prepared for an eager charge. "I might have. Would you care to help me sharpen it, dear boy?"

A flurry of demonic Gladius burst from the Devil's body, taking aim at his opponent and spiraling forward.

Neither expected the attacks to hit, least of all Vergil; he analyzed him, trying to see how he would react.  
He didn't disappoint, as he put on a mercurial display of speed, weaving in between the living blades. The swords took off and circled around in the air above them, waiting for another chance to strike.  
The reptilian entity buzzed forward on his firefly wings, fluidly moving like a slimy skeleton.

Striking downwards, it was confident that it could match his speed.  
In a blur, the blade twisted itself around and impaled itself through the beast's wrist, moving faster than he anticipated.

Orzoth felt splitting agony shoot up its arm, conjoining with the pain felt from the other wound. It's Cambionic enemy had shot a glowing, azure blade into a crease in its harness through it's abdomen.  
The creature wrapped its thin fingers around the hilt and yanked it out, but regretted it immediately. Though the construct looked smooth, it may as well have been barbed. It ran the creature through.  
Grunting the pain away, Orzoth attacked again, swing those razor-taloned arms.

It kept Vergil on the defensive, dodging and spinning.

The halfling waited for the perfect moment, stringing his old foe along until launching himself and Yamato off his back, roaring into a helm-breaking strike.

He slammed the katana down unto Orzoth's armor. The blade was almost ripped from his hands as the creature shoved him with its entire body, leaving him wide open and off balance.

Orzoth launched a series of claws into his mid riff that tore at his granite flesh. It stuck him on his right side a subsequently issued a series of punches to his face.  
Two basic ones, a bloody nose. Then a final third, capping the man so hard it knocked him on his back.

It's crimson, insect-armor coat was ruffled by his fist, which clung to the lapel. It's dinosauric legs couldn't support his weight, and so it came crashing forward, it's forehead cracking the cement ground.  
Though stifled the man used his legs to give the creature further momentum, sending it flip side onto its back.

It struggled to get to it's feet, as despite its demonic origin, these combination of features weren't exactly conducive to grace.

Managing to eventually toss itself onto its hand and feet, it quickly slithered around, moving not unlike a crocodile in the water.

Twisting itself around to face a recovered Vergil, the man stared the creature down for a split second.

Vergil threw Yamato's hilt in a spin, rotating at sonic speeds as it crashed into Orzoth's forearm. The beast was unsure of the attack, as the hilt itself didn't leave much of an impact.  
Looking back up, he was gone. Disappeared.

Suddenly, it's face was plastered with a heel digging into the cheekbone. It felt a serious crunching as it hurtled into the brick wall.  
Vergil zoomed forward with his katana, taking a page out of Dante's playbook with rapid-fire stinger.

The strike hit the brick wall and reverberated throughout the whole building as Orzoth used its wings to take shelter in the sky.

Looking down on him, the demon took a moment to think of a plan.

Unfortunately, it didn't anticipate another strike, as a summoned sword hit his chest. Rather than impaling, as it had done before, the weapon instead enabled its generator to fly forward at him.  
The Yamato then slashed down and severed the left set of wings.

It roared and spun downward as the slayer made artwork out of his body, slicing and dicing so fast he cut perfect lines through the rain drops before they could fall.  
He bloodied the demon, amputated its right arm and stabbed it to oblivion, all before delivering a stomp onto its head when the time came to hit the ground.

A shockwave rang out as the cement cracked and upended itself.

Vergil raised his left hand and the scabbard shot up from the ground back into his hand.  
Removing his foot, he quickly sheathed the blade, slowly stopping just an inch away before suddenly jamming it shut.

Numerous cuts and sores opened on it's body, bleeding the creature to near death.

The man banished the weapon and seized the thing by its throat.

"Who sent you after this girl?" Vergil interrogated sharply. Hoisting his demon up off the ground.

It gagged and spat, hissing at him though it had no venom.

"Okay! Alright . . . ! I- I'll talk." The demon trembled. "It was a man from the Lowell family, Walter! He wanted me to take this girl to the demon world. He-he wanted me to make her dinner, hehe- Gah!"

Vergil crushed on its larynx, stifling any further sarcasm.

It cried, begging for release.

"Aheh! You'll burn in hell for thi-! *cough ~ cough* Arrauhghh-Alright, alright you pale bastard! You'll find him close by, waiting for me to inform him about the girl."

The silver-haired man took satisfaction from its suffering.

"I see." Vergil replied with a glint in his eyes. "Thank you . . . Now, you'll forget about this girl and leave."

At last he slammed the handle of Yamato into the demon's head, cracking its head open and sending it back to the demon world.

Vergil began walking to the bench but stopped for a moment, taking his breath.

He was soaked wet by the heavy rain.

"That felt good." A menacing smile broke across his face.

An old revenge, finally settled after so long.

He picked up the umbrella and closed his eyes. Focusing on his environment, he expanded on his internal temperature. Thus, the new ability he'd developed kicked in.  
Slowly, hellfire started to raise from his boots up to the rest of his body. Warmth spread in once again, almost like nothing happened.

The flames sparked out from beneath his soles, then traveled up above to his hair.  
And as soon as it appeared, his blaze vanished and Vergil walked out of the smoke, fully dry. He immediately opened the umbrella again.

There was no sense in drying himself off if he would just get wet again.

"Miss Lowell, it's time to go." He called out to her as he bent back over the bench, his umbrella covering the soggy bushes.

The little girl peered out at him with such relief in her eyes. "Is . . . is it over? I won't see him again?"

Vergil beamed warmth down at her, a reassuring gesture.

"Oh my god, I didn't think- I owe you my life." Patty replied and came out of her hiding spot.

Vergil simply tapped the top of her head and continued walking to their destination.  
Deep down, in a part of himself he desperately did not want to acknowledge, he did feel for her.

He himself had been in this situation once before, but at that time, in that place, no one was there to help him.

When the boy needed help most, no one was there to answer his cries, least of all Dante. He had to suffer for a long, long time until he broke free.

And he couldn't wait until he stumbled upon the filth who wanted this done to her.

Five minutes of walking was all it took, they reached the almost empty train station. Here, they could leave and reach her new home.

Vergil's eyes darted around, scanning for the supposed human nearby.

He kept searching and searching . . .

Until he saw one, lone man. He was wearing a red shirt and blue jeans.  
There was a tattoo on his left forearm. His head looked down while his leg tapped the ground relentlessly. He lowered the umbrella and placed it in her hand.

"Wait here." He said.

There was something coldly mechanical about him that made her comply.

"A-Alright."

Vergil quickened his steps towards the man. So many possibilities to punish him for his crime.

"So, you are the pesky human who sold a child to a demon?" He asked loudly, getting the stranger's attention. He gazed up at him, surprised, before his eyes went to the right and left in an attempt to look for someone else the red man could be addressing.

"Yes you are. You're a one Walter Lowell aren't you?" Vergil asked again, standing directly in front of him.

"What do you want punk?" He spat the words.

"Punishment." Vergil leered widely at him. "You see, I hate people like you. I don't even know why, I just really, really want to hurt you. Who are you to kill a child?  
Who made you god to say 'I'll take your life from you?'"

The man drew his knee up and kicked him in the stomach. He then slugged him twice in the face so hard, with two brass knuckles, that the impact of the strikes sent the half-breed tumbling backwards. The pain was minor, nothing really.

His head whipped back from the blow.

Vergil resented the idea of a human being able to even come close to his power, let alone hurt him. To resort to use his powers against someone like this man . . .  
But actually inflicting pain on him, making him shocked that a nobody, a mere man could harm him, that defied his very world view.

Vergil returned his head stationary, and glared at the man with smoldering detestation. He'd never at anyone like this, not even Orzoth.

A maddening, sapphire aura of devil-aggression started to suppurate from Vergil, encompassing him in an icy chill of sulfuric anger.

Walter lifted his head, eyes widening, gripped by terror.

"Wha-What the hell are you doing?" He wailed, petrified. Vergil's eyes turned red, shimmering with hostility.

Walter didn't even realize when he'd been hit, tailspinning backwards to the train station's soaked ground. His neck snapped and his head almost clean off the body.

The cadaver laid there, lifeless.

His separated head fell down the steps towards Walter's approaching posse. These man were larger than Walter, but just as thuggish.  
Vergil looked upon him with that same ruthlessness.

Far in the distance, Patty heard a blood chilling scream.

She flinched, not really wanting to see.

In the middle of pondering what route they'd take, she heard his voice, calling her.

"Move it."

Patty ran toward Vergil, wishing nothing more than to reach home and get this over with. Once she reached him, her eyes caught the sight of a man who'd faltered onto the ground. Quivering none-stop, his arms were crossed in a cross formation.

Eyelids forced open to the point of bloodshot, staring at the wall above him. "I saw him, hehaha! A demon . . . a monster!" The man fumbled over his words, stuttering.

He appeared struggling to breath and he broke into hysterical fits of laughter. "What happened to him? Shouldn't we call for help?" Patty wondered.

"No," Dante replied. "Forget about him. He's . . . He's justified."

"Hey.."Patty raised her voice, slightly worried as she lifted her sleeve up."My scar is still there! why?" Exposing her arm once again.

" Because it's not over." He replied." I told you it's gonna to be a tough road."

"Oh come on..." Patty's head bowed in defeat.  
...

..Thank you for reading


	7. Rational Gaze

The train swayed and rocked. It darted down the path, squealing past a town with no train station. The thunder of it's wheels echoed by a thundering grey sky.  
'Dante' sat on the direct opposite bench, in the same aisle to the girl. The low glow of the morning sun overstayed its welcome, and the gentle rocking of the train soothed him.  
The steam and the mechanisms slowed down with the view outside to a concrete building. The Ecliptic Express happened to be nearly vacant of people at such a late hour.

The little one's eyes beamed at him with a blank expression. Not that it disturbed him, but it felt like having an owl stare him down.  
He could see it in her eyes, and she wanted to say something about it.

But, youth is often hesitant to do so.

"Is there something bothering you?" His left foot tapped the floor of the train car.

Patty's cheek went red immediately.

"It's nothing . . ." she stuttered slightly. "It's just- *sigh*, My mother gave me away to that orphanage  _because_   _of the demons_  that followed us . . ."

She paused for a second to wait for his reaction.

The silver-haired man stopped however, and his eyes were blank. Patty could read no emotion out of them. An expression of embarrassment and sadness scratched itself onto her face in mere seconds.  
The right corner of his lip winced as he blinked at her.

"Never mind." She crossed her arms and watched the view in the window. As much As Vergil hated to admit it, this moment reminded him of Dante.

When they were young, he had these same little innocent puppy eyes. What else could he tell Patty? That her mother didn't want her? He knew enough now to not even try.

But her words caught his interest.

A haunting or a curse . . . why, really? Unless her mother was marked too, or did she do something to muddle demonic affairs?  
He paused for a moment.

She could be a witch.

"Try to sleep, Miss Lowery." His cold voice broke the awkward moment.

"Lowell." She politely corrected him.

"Lowell." He replied.

In the middle of it all, his ears detected the sound of a heavy vibration above.  
Something was dragging itself. Turbulence perhaps? On a train? Not likely. He could sense it, waiting for lunchtime. The demon growled some ancient words in a blackened speech.

"Sacrifice . . . The one." That was all he could make out.

Vergil grimaced, his eyes looking at the floor.

"This will be your grave, if you touch her . . ." He spat in a faint whisper.

A man wearing a suit came up to their seats, holding what looked like a heavy suitcase.

"Hey there, mind if I sit here next to you guys?" He asked with a gentle smile.

Vergil shook his head, with a slight annoyance evident in his eyes.

Patty got lost in her locket briefly.

"-Well now, that's a very pretty picture. Is that mommy?" He asked.

Patty looked up, vacant for a second. "Huh? Oh, yes it is. It's just an old picture . . ."

"Well, you're not so bad yourself, young ma'am. I can see good looks run in the family. Mind if I join you and your daughter sir?" He looked at Vergil, whose stern look worsened.

His left hand stayed concealed but tightened into a fist.

"If you value your head, you'll sit as far away from us as you can."

The man stood back a bit, unsure of why he'd been so harsh to him.

"Whoa, chill out." He raised his hand, remaining calm. "You could just say, no."

Patty was taken aback by Vergil's refusal.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Patty elevated her volume.

Vergil eyed the girl for a second, but then he signaled the man off, "It isn't personal, just go sit somewhere else. There's plenty of open cars today. Run if you have to."

His eyes flashed red hypnotically.

The stranger became charmed, ultimately shrugging as he paced over two rows ahead of them.

"That wasn't nice." Patty frowned. "Why did you do that?"

The Cambion laid back upon on the chair, sprawling out in a familiar position he'd know Dante would most likely take up.  
He didn't need to bother explaining anything to her.

How would he say, 'I just saved his life? Literally. It's just another disturbing abomination coming after you. It waits for you, stalking on the roof above.'

The conductor announced the train was about to go through a tunnel.  
He was jovial despite a clear lack of appreciation for his job. Not that being a train conductor couldn't be fun every once in a while.

Vergil opened his coat and immediately grabbed the girl, albeit doing so gently. He really never wanted to inflict any force on her.  
Not now that he knew her.

"Hide in my coat, now." He said, calm but urgent.

Patty's eyes dampened, and turned confused. "What? Why, it's only a-"

She gasped, realizing what might happen. She ceased arguing.  
The look in his eyes was the same when he told her to hide in the bushes. Reluctantly, she moved across to his bench. It felt awkward.

Patty cleared her throat nervously and sat beside him. Hiding her face in the small of his back, he closed the coat around her.

The light vanished from her vision. Nothing but darkness enveloped her.

His coat truly was all encompassing.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she heard him whisper unrecognizable words. Like he spoke in tongues.

The mumbling sounded somewhat like, "Berbaysu . . . adanai . . . arisanthal yeldu."

Vergil waited for the answer from the creature.

"You shall not... interfere, son of Sparda." The demon growled, smugly contesting his might.

Vergil felt a crushing feeling come over his chest. His frustration boiled in his heart, making his fist burn.

Part of him wished he'd taken Ifrit as a substitute for Beowulf, then at least he would have the pleasure of ripping the creature apart with his bare hands.  
In fact, he made a not for himself to retrieve the weapon when next he returned to the shop.

For the train, it bounded left as the tunnel curved and emerged into the light once again.

"Are you holding up?" Dante asked.

Patty shuddered like she was slowly freezing.

"It's so cold!" Panic crept over her. "It's too cold, just like-. . ." she whispered, staining his coat with warm tears.

Dante wrapped his arms around her. "Calm down. Close your eyes, and focus on the train. Just listen to the gears."

Patty's hand tightened around the shirt on his back. The thoughts were accelerating inside her head. She wanted them to slow, at least so she could breathe . . . but they won't.  
Her heart pounded inside her trunk, beating up against every cavity. It belongs to a rabbit, running for its skin.  
The room spun, and she made herself shrink and shrink, crumpling further into a small little box. Everything slowed around her, the stress reaching a fever pitch.

The grinding gears were smooth and oiled, running as efficiently as they'd ever gone.  
They grew clearer in her mind, becoming larger, more engrossing. It grew to be the only thing she knew, becoming her metal home inside an alien world.

In the midst of her focus, she heard the sound of steel colliding with something.

At first, she thought it was the train hitting some debris on the tracks. A rock maybe, or the remnants of some human commodity accidentally lost over the side of the highway over them.

But then loud, plodding vibrations thundered through the car, mixed with the sound of something like a sword.

And just like that, within seconds. The train movement halted completely, nearly hurtling her off the seat, but 'Dante' caught her by the collar.

Warmth spread throughout her nervous system once again. She pulled back to look at him. Her eyes riddled him with silent questions.

"What-! What the hell was that!?" She asked the very first issue hanging on the tip of her tongue.

"I'm afraid you have to go through more than this. To be set free, it'll get worse from here. Much worse." He said and set her down on the ground.

He removed her bangs from her eyebrows, attending to to see if she needed anything more.  
He straightened her clothes and brushed off some dirt on his shoulder.

"Security!" A woman screamed. Patty noticed crimson color seeping from under one of the chairs, three rows behind them.

"Don't look. That's for Adults Only." He said after thinking on it for a moment. He grasped her suitcase. "Let's go."

"Oh no you don't! No one leaves till we get this sorted out." It was the train car's staff security. "What's the rush, wise guy? You wouldn't be trying to hide something, would you?"

Vergil stared right into his soul, his eyes transferring the notion of hatred.  
He stayed silent, unsure of how to handle what was going on.

"I don't know what you're thinking, but you're 'barking up the wrong tree.'" It was the first time he'd ever said a phrase like that.

He'd heard Dante say it many times as they got older, though he disliked saying such phrases. Saying it was comical, Vergil had a real dry sense of humor.  
No one really spoke as deadpan as he could.

"Oh-ho, really now? You're staying here till we get this sorted . . . How do I know it wasn't you, eh? An old man is dead and their's only six people here." The man said,  
pretending to possess more authority than he really did.

What few people there were gathered around.

Vergil stared him down further. Then broke from his stoicism. He dropped her luggage, leaving Patty to fumble as she caught the damn thing.

"You're right, there were only six people. Let's go through each suspect, shall we, Poirot?" He said, sounding reserved and uncaring, doing his very best to imitate Dante's flippant nature.

The man stood back, caught off guard as he stared at the man in confusion.  
Vergil strolled forward past the man, keeping his hands in his pockets, and addressed everyone present.

"Okay. For the ten seconds of darkness or so, there was me and the girl, then those three. Then there's our dead friend here. That makes six." He said,  
remaining rigid as he awkwardly leaned back on a seat post.

It was lower than he expected.

Eh, he'll get the body language down soon enough. Just after he masters the vocabulary . . . still a bit too archaic in places. Of course, it was just for show.  
No one really got the Agatha Christie reference either.

"Yeah, and i suppose, what? You were just innocently practicing your guitar?" The man said, referencing his black case.

Vergil attempted a good-natured chuckle, but just sounded like he was mocking the man's intelligence.  
He got angry with him, pumping his chest up and threatening to come forward towards the scarlet slayer.

The man just ignored him, returning to a hateful stare briefly. It stopped him dead in his tracks.

"So, let's make this clear. The lovers were kissing all the way back in the corner, thinking nobody noticed. They didn't do it." When he said this, the couple flinched, becoming uncomfortable.

He gave them a scornful glance.

"Then, there was the business man. He sat a few feet in front of us that way. He couldn't have done it, there wasn't enough time to get from point A to point B, then back again in just ten seconds.  
And when we came out he was still sitting up there." Vergil said motioning to the polite man he'd turned away.

The investigator scoffed at Vergil.

"Okay,  _detective_. That still leaves  _you_. You're not making a point here. You still could have done it." He said, arrogantly leaning on the seat post as well, and also subsequently misjudging the height.  
He ineptly shuffled as he ultimately rested his elbow on the top of the seat.

"You think I'd do something like that with her nearby?" 'Dante' retorted, motioning to Patty, "I didn't do it. That man has a hole in the head, and I've made it a personal code of ethics not to carry guns.  
You didn't hear a gun shot, did you? Besides, she was afraid of the dark, so she hid in my jacket."

Dante lifted his coat to reveal no holsters anywhere.

The train marshal became unsettled, looking back at the girl.

Patty nodded at him, affirming the story's validity.

"W-Well- Well, i-if you didn't do it smart-ass, who did? There's only six people here." He said, deflated.

"Well, that's not entirely the truth either, is it?" Vergil's glare pierced through into the man's brain. "There were two other people, not counting all of us. That's you, and someone else."

The man grew angry again, "You're not seriously suggesting that-" Vergil cut him off.

"No, don't be ridiculous. You were all the way at the front, you have the same alibi as the business man." He said, absolving the man, and then glanced out the cracked window.

Patty and the others followed his gaze, and noticed the window's status for the first time.  
How could they have been blind to it? It was plain as the sunlight coming through the fractured glass.

"So that leaves just one last person. Or rather,  _thing._ " He said.

The creature stirred, and began to rip apart the ceiling. It growled and hissed as it showed it's multi-eyed mug to the occupants.  
It screamed in some alien language. The black speech of earlier, roaring something roughly translated as, "You rage-inducing dog dick of Anubis! I'll rip your legs off!"

So, apparently, it knew of Egyptian mythology.

Everyone screamed, bewildered by the beast.

'Dante' shoved the investigator off his feet, past Patty.

He spun into place beneath the creature and held both his hands upwards, clasping a small, aquamarine orb, held within a prism of silver wire. A pot of some kind.  
A sudden, brilliant flash of sapphire light energy detonated as he crushed the object held in his hands.

It funneled upward into a pillar of energy as Vergil somehow restrained the blast, focusing it upwards into the creature.

It tried to resist, but to no avail, ripping away from the car into the sky.  
As it rocketed upward, it began to disintegrate, it's limbs tearing away into dust, it's mind breaking into pieces, and that delightfully hideous face shredding into atoms.

After a few moments, the cozy, inviting luminescence vanished, leaving behind a bunch of scared humans.

Vergil took control, "None of you tell anyone what you saw. Who'll believe you, anyway?" He said, mocking their feeble attempts to understand what kind of Cthulhu monster they'd just seen.

It looked like an over-sized mutant crocodile, with tentacles and eyes in place of that elongated jaw. The body was also much longer, possessing many limbs to disturbing level.  
With the blast came relief, and the those frightened, such as the business man, simply ran, but mostly fine. He'd probably chalk it up to being a bad dream.

Others, like the couple, just stood in amazement.

The female partner said, "Th-thank you!"

While the man was enamored by how awesome that all just was, saying, "That was scary as hell, but that was amazing! Rock on, dude! Leaving now!"

And the couple hurriedly left, strangely more gracious than the others.  
Then there was the investigator.

"D-don't touch me! What the hell _was that!?_ " he yelled, squirming away from the man in red.

"That was the last of my mercy." He said.

And he ran. He ran so far away, abandoning his post and throwing away his name tag.  
He went mad from the revelation.

Patty just treated it as business as usual.

"Well, that was special." She said, almost cynical, although she was still childlike.

Vergil stood for a moment.

"Are you okay?" He said, wondering if that whole scene was too much for the young girl to take.

"I think so. Just give me a sec." She said and used the post of the seats to prop herself up.  
She, of course, was just the right height.

Vergil took a moment, then decided to come over to her. He soothed her shoulder, trying to make her feel better.

"Hey. I didn't mean for you to see that. I promise to be better next time, all right?" He said, giving her another encouraging smile. His second of the day.

She beamed back at him after a moment of hesitation, coming to trust him.

"Th-thank you. I think i'm okay now. That was just-, that was intense." She said, adding, "I've seen other demons, so I think that helps."

He just stared at her. He grabbed the umbrella and his guitar case, hoisting the big onto his back after placing the umbrella within.  
Then, they departed the train.

. . .

'Dante' and Patty stepped out of the train and welcomed some people going in.  
Vergil hurried them along, knowing that the others who'd entered would soon discover . . .

A female scream emanated through the station.

But they were already well away, moving through a different crowd, pulling out towards their destination.  
His speed came in handy often.

Vergil pulled the paper from his front pocket and unfolded it, checking for the address on the map one more time.

"So, we are here . . ." He pointed with his index finger at a number. He studied their route for a moment. "We should keep going to a main street and-"

When he heard a feminine voice, moaning the word 'oh,' then 'yes.'

"D-uh, excuse me?" He said, scanning the area. He felt a small hand tug at his coat.  
Looking down, she pointed to their right.

The two gazed over and saw a woman approaching them.  
She was wearing a tight, sleeveless black top that barely covered her midriff, alongside a red leather miniskirt that hugged everything but her legs.

All she wore on her legs were black pumps.

She eyed him up and down, flaunting her symmetrical, alluring face, then her eyes trailed to Patty, "What's with the little girl? You 'peddling her wares?'"

Her voice was deep, and she gave him a steamy eye, hoping to make his cheeks flare with the remark.

Vergil was taken aback, about as confused as much as he was insulted.  
What made her have such thoughts, did he really look that suspicious?

However he kept looking at her blankly, "I'm not a pimp."

His stoicism was alluring.

"That's much better then." She smiled seductively. The toned woman sauntered forth, her hips swaying swiftly in front of him. She bends over slightly for her generous cleavage to press up a bit,  
tightening her assets . . . firmly bouncing with each step.

Vergil shrugged, finding her attractive but not distracting.

"I'm, eh-. . . I'm her Dad." He said, a little annoyed by this persistence.

He held Patty's hand, hurrying with her forward, on their way.

The woman's eyes glittered, as she watched him for a moment.

"Oh my . . . Nice ass you have there." And followed closely behind.

"Oh-ho, a family man, eh? I'd show her a few things if you got the time . . ." She said. Vergil rapidly looked back and forth between Patty and the woman.

"No." His cynical tone retorted. "Not going to happen."

The woman's face softened a bit. Thinking of a plan in her mind, it seems he is the hard to get type.

A challenge.

Uh oh.

"Well, I can tell by how you dress, you must be single. That's so unfair." She said and tapped Vergil's shoulder. "Call me, and I'll make you feel like no one ever will. Think about it, okay baby . . . ?"

She grazed the inside of his thigh, moving her body close to his as she strode away.  
Her hand slowly trailed down to his lower back. Dante felt her slip a card in his rear pocket.

"Catch you later, Adonis." She gave a sultry whisper in his ear, and with that, walked away.

He watched the woman for a second, as her figure vanished into the crowd.

He took the card out to check what her name was, just for the hell of it.

"Crystal Daly." He read aloud.

'Dante' rolled his eyes, "How charming." He muttered.

His index and thumbs ripped the card down the middle. With the distraction dealt with, he looked down to see a wide-eyed Patty.

She was just . . . yeah.

"Never speak of this. Got it?" He said.

A quiet laugh escaped her tiny lips. "Why not? She's gorgeous. An inappropriate weirdo but still . . ."

Dante closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath.  
There's no time to speak out on such silly transgressions.

"When you grow older, you'll understand. A woman like that only throws herself at me because of how I look; nothing else. I don't need someone like that around." Vergil spoke softly.

The yellow sun changed to hues of orange, and then almost tangerine.  
It merged with the sky, like a juice mix dissolving in a glass of water.

"Wasn't I supposed to be home by now?" Patty asked.

The train station was just a figment in the distance now.

"No, it's fine. We have until tomorrow. The timing of your father's hearing to claim his inheritance. Well, your inheritance." He corrected himself calmly.

"Ah. Do you think people will get sketchy about the train? How many do you think saw the light?"

Vergil chuckled. "Put it our of your mind, little one."

She smiled to herself. His sense of humor was growing on her.

The bleak dusk engulfed the city within minutes. Vergil's eyes focused on the alleyways and rooftops. Demons do so love to blend with humans, but have the most horrid taste when it comes to attacking.  
Patty looks forward while the orange street lamps glazed the asphalt.  
They all glimmered on, blinking in and out at first as the power began to stabilize.

Her heart started to grow quick again. The dark signaled the beginning of the end for her.  
She tried to ignore it, concentrate only on putting one foot in front of the other, but each time her shoes scraped the pavement she was sure it was the sound of another grisly pursuer.

She threw a glance over her shoulder, and the shadows danced on the walls of the alleyway, forming odd silhouettes she dared not look in the face.

Vergil's grasp tightened around her hand. "Don't fear them. They won't hurt you."

"Aren't you at all scared of them? The things that come after me?" She asked quietly.

He looked at her for a moment as they walked.

"No, they're usually afraid of me." He said.

Her heart pounded a little less when he said that.  
She felt good, even though she knew it was getting more and more dangerous.

Every cell vibrated beneath her skin as she pulled her eyes in front of her.  
 _Every little thing_  sounded menacing.

The sound of a siren far off: The wails from a thousand tortured souls.  
The pebbles beneath her feet getting thrown together: The sound of something grating into the pavement right behind her.  
The sound of a dented trash can tipping over from a gust of wind, then rolling around: The gears of a million beastly weapons aimed right at her forehead, clicking the safety off.

She bit back the shriek that swelled at the back of her throat, but it stuck. A lump was harder to breathe past than she would have liked.

A tire track of sweat slid behind her ear, though she could almost guarantee it was the caress of a watery finger.  
She started to walk faster, creating noise. She demanded that it slow, but it didn't. She couldn't help it. The imposing grime felt like it was choking her, corroding . . .

Patty brought herself closer to him, calming her senses, feeling safer.

Here comes another one.

Vergil knelt down and whispered, "Hey. See that hotel?" He asked.

She nodded, down the road some fifty feet was a small little motel.  
Vergil really needed to get reacquainted with culture, so he could at least tell the difference between a hotel and motel.

Nevertheless,

"Go inside and wait for me. Okay?"

Patty's eyes drifted to the side, and saw a medium-sized, neon sign, hung above an average looking place.

"Um, that's kind of far, don't you think? I- I'm not that brave."

Vergil picked her chin up with his curled index finger. She looked at him.

"Look at me. It's good to fear things. Fear is like . . . It's like your superpower, understand?"

She shook her head no.

"Fear drives you, right? It can make you stronger than you think, and braver than you believe. Even if anything tries to stop you, you can get past it because you're so fast." Surprisingly,  
he was actually giving a rather encouraging pep talk to her. There's a first time for everything.

"So let the fear empower you, don't let it be your weakness. Can you make it now, Miss Lovell?" He said.

"Lowell." She corrected.

"Lowell, right." He muttered, "I'm losing my head at the mo-, do you understand?"

She nodded to him, a toughened but still sensitive look on her face.

"Good . . . Now, run." He said, and she took off, practically flying down the road to get to the building.

Vergil faced the street, his ears following the sound of small creaking.  
However, something didn't feel right about this one. It sounded like boots strutting casually, but the steps seemed to vibrate irregularly, vacillating from left to right.

Like the creature is toying with it's prey.

So either he just made a huge mistake, or great sacrifice for her.

"Show yourself . . ." He whispered, banishing the guitar case in favor of Yamato. Brandishing the blade, he held unto it's hilt, still sheathed.

The shadow billowed up from the ground, like a fountain. Directly in front of him, an entity walked right out of it.  
Vergil couldn't process what he just saw. He backtracked slightly, thinking maybe he was having another dream, another demonic affect.

Was he still in the train? 'That'd be a good twist.' He thought to himself.

But no, not this time.

Right in front of him, stood a bald man dressed in black, his different colored eyes watching him with a wicked smile.

"I told myself it wasn't you, but I knew better . . . What do you want, Arkham?" Vergil sternly spoke to his old affiliate, just like in the days of the tower.

"I'm so glad you still remember our old accord." Arkham spoke in his deep, husky voice. "Makes my revenge feel all the more sweet."

"Why are you alive? What purpose would coming after me serve you?"

Arkham smirked and looked down at the ground, he just remained silent.

"Answer me!" He said, that old anger returning.

He stared up at him, remaining silent as he stared manically, his fleshy scar pulsating across his face.

"I'm going to get you . . . I'm going to get you, and that ungrateful whore I called Mary. The seed implanted . . . You're going to follow your mother in death."

Vergil's eyes sharpened once he realized what the man referenced.

"You'd put your daughter through that?" He asked with bated breath, "All the suffering in the world for what? A second chance at power you're not, and never were, worthy enough to perceive?"

"Oooooddd . . ." He elongated his word, taunting him with a rigorous spite, "I don't recall you being so attached to her . . ."

Vergil gritted his teeth. "I won't ever stoop so low to obtain something I want."

The anger in his voice rose. "Despicable . . . I should have known you would sink this low, you buffoon. After all, it was so easy for you to kill that bride of yours."

Arkham stared at him, his mouth remaining drooped open and his eyes wild, but not angry. No . . . they were amused.  
He was back all right, but now he was changed. Vergil could feel it. Something was fundamentally altered.

"No witty retort?" Vergil questioned, remaining vigilant, but confused at his lack of response.

The man stayed murderous, looking at the silver haired hunter with engulfing eyes that glowed something chaotic.  
His temper rose, becoming more and more upset at the quiet.

"What are you playing at? Did you think I was going to be out for your blood?" He spat venomously at the man.

Silence.

" **Say something!** " He shouted, half demonic as his eyes glowed crimson.

A splitting pain broken across his forehead as stumbled back, grabbing his head with his right hand.  
Grunting in pain, he fell to on one knee.

He grasped the other side of his head with his left now, and began to feel like his head was in a vice.

So. Much. Pressure.

'Stop.'

'Stop!'

'STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-'  
"-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRAH!" He bellowed as he raised his head from his palms, staring with more blistering ire than a star.

His iris and pupils vanished in a sea of rubies, glowing a spectral, soulless crimson.

He bore his teeth like an untamed wolf, clamping his jaw down so hard that his molars nearly shattered.

Launched forward off his feet with a fist, he let Yamato fall by the wayside.  
Vergil blasted forward like a bullet, launching a sonic strike with all his strength, drawing upon his darker half for more.

It connected with Arkham's nose, and his whole body bloated.

A vermillion explosion of hatred burst into the night, and his knuckles punctured the man's head, seemingly impaling the skull on his arm.

His bicep remained lodged inside the man's head, and when the aura cleared out, Arkham proceeded to 'pop.'

The man's body snapped like a rubber balloon, breaking apart into confetti.

The hunter drooped on the spot, resting on his knees a moment.

"Mary . . ." He whispered to himself.

He pushed the thoughts away.

'She can watch herself just fine.' He told himself.

But, then again, why now?  
His mind raced along, reflecting Arkham's meaning. He knew what was going to happen, but how?

That part was troublesome.

"No more . . . No more. That's far enough." He pulled the phone out, and started searching until he stumbled upon a number with the name 'Lady' attached.

Vergil rolled his eyes. Lady? Really. Still, he would respect the choice, considering their last engagement. He pressed call and waited.

And waited.

. . . And waited.

. . . And waited . . .

"Come on, answer, you brat."

. . .

. . .

. . .

He sighed and gave up.

"I can't believe I will say this, but-" He admitted to himself. "It's not fair. I don't think I can do this alone . . ."

He clicked with his shoes and turned away, summoning Yamato to him and returning the guitar case.  
Hoisting it on his back, he moved on to the motel.

As he came to the glass door, he noticed Patty waiting for him. He touched the handle and the door opened with a creak, and an attached bell subsequently rang.

He noticed it and grabbed the little wreath, ripping it from the top of the door.  
Vergil didn't even look at it, tossing the wretched thing into the disposal bin.

Patty could tell there was an immediate difference in his demeanor. He was slouched and depressed, a far cry from the more confident man she'd been walking with.

The place inside was half lit.  
With flays around a small lamp over the reception's desk, it looked like it was still decorated for Christmas, despite the holiday having been over for almost a month.

A man with messy, inked hair sat reluctantly, his back facing them.

"Give me a room." He said, his grim anger leaking out in his face a bit.

"Hmm, one adult and a child . . ." The man had a raspy voice. He opened a drawer and took a key with the number 14. He threw it backward for Vergil to catch.

"Enjoy."

Vergil was silent for a moment and observed the man. Something's not right about this.

"Are you okay?" The girl tug at his hand, whispering to him.

"Let's go."

He took her hand and went for the stairs. Their room, located down the hall, wasn't fancy, but full enough for the two to move freely.  
There was one twin size bed and a window directly next to it. The room had an auburn carpet, borderline brown. A blacklight would reveal bad things, for sure.

The sink had soap scum and dried water stains all over the faucet. It was exposed openly to the room, while the restroom had the toilet and shower tub, but a very tight door.

He went to the window and peeked through the old, discolored blinds.

Patty ran and threw herself upon the bed. "I'm tired."

"Sleep. You need it." Vergil moved away from the window.

"Good idea. I hadn't thought of that." She chuckled and took her hat, placing it to the side of the crummy headboard. Once her head fell upon the pillow, she was fast asleep.

Vergil crashed on the seedy couch and stretched his legs. They creaked and popped, like old floorboards. No matter how strong he was, he still got sore.  
His eyes moved up to the ceiling.

And Vergil's mind drifted elsewhere . . .

"But mom, I'm strong now! I can help fight back!" The voice of a tween echoed.

"Sweetheart. I know you've grown strong, but that doesn't mean you should put yourself in danger to prove it." The gentle feminine voice Of Eva replied, sterner than before.

She continued, "You need to be careful. Think about the consequences before you do something. You don't see how a bad thing can happen."

* * *

. . .

* * *

"Mother . . ." Vergil whispered. He kept on relaxing, when his ear caught an unusual sound.

He shot up from the couch, and, to his dismay, Patty was nowhere to be seen.

His face scrunched into a scowl, and he left the room, sprinting in seconds to the front desk.

He charged up, coldly barking, "Where's my daughter?"

"Huh? I don't know what you are talking about."

Vergil felt the urge to murder. He grabbed the man by his jacket and pulled him roughly face-to-face.

"I'm going to say this just once." His eyes flashed red, "Where. Is. Patty?"

The man squirmed in his arms, wanting to be relinquished back to his worn leather chair.

"Dah-! O-okay! My name is Sid and if you break my neck I won't be able to help you. Put me down please!" He replied, speaking a million miles an hour.

* * *

. . .

Patty found herself walking in what seemed to be the entryway of an opera house.  
The voice of a woman sent shivers through the walls from how powerful it was; how pure.

She took a left and there was a half-opened, wood door. A light snuck beneath it, "Mom!"

She screamed and ran inside, not really processing where she was going.

The theater hall had no lights, other than the stage itself, where a blonde woman in a pink dress stood.

A bright smile graced her face. Her mother was right there.

She could be with her.

As if time slowed, Patty ran down toward her, but never grew close enough, the image slowly turning to darkness.

From another dimension it seemed, she felt hands grab her and she was pushed into someone's chest.  
Heat started to rise, like the one holding her was burning up.

"Dante!?" She shouted once she realized who it was.

"Why would you do that!?" He screamed before pushing her down into a chair.

He summoned Yamato and slashed at the darkness, creating a swirl of slashes and supra cosmic poles of light.  
She watched as occasional sparks and dimensional blasts of radiance lancing through the dark.

Vergil battled hard and he battled fierce, unleashing all his pent up frustration as he pulled on a curtain that separated her from the danger.

She kept watching eyes glued to the action as her guardian hacked his way through endless waves of enemies.

Once, she heard him grunt. Did one get off a lucky shot?  
It didn't matter, they all lost their heads eventually.

And in the end, he proved victorious, emerging from the dark covered in sanguineous fluid.

He was panting, exhaling hard.

Blinded by his anger, he'd let his guard down, leaving him open a few times.

Once Patty heard a complete silence, she'd stood, but immediately met his frosty gaze.  
He trudged towards her, exhausted and very, very cross.

"Why did you leave the room . . . It was safe there!" He looked at her, scornful yet again, "If I was late you would be dead."

Patty's eyes fell to the ground.

"I'm sorry. It's just, I saw my . . . I saw my mommy." Tears fell to the floor, she remained defeated, "-And I wanted to see her again. I-I just wanted to know what her hug felt like again."

Vergil sighed, kneeling down to join her at eye level.  
He touched her shoulders and said.

"You can't be stupid out here. This isn't the orphanage, this is the real world. Think about the consequences before you do something. You don't see how a bad thing can happen."  
He wouldn't sugarcoat it.

She did a damn stupid thing just now.

Patty's eyes met his for a moment.

". . . I'm sorry." She replied, wiping her tears away, sniffling and catching in her breath.

He stood and walked by her, making his way for the exit.

"Th-thank you." She said, and he stopped.

Vergil looked back at her, and held out his hand.

She jogged forward and took it.

"Lets go home."

* * *

. . .

* * *

Lady lived in an apartment on the fifth floor.  
She had an okay view of the street and the sky. Through the balcony, she could view most everything around.

It was, essentially, a concrete ledge, with rough, square edges, and a rusty railing.

But it was _her_  oasis, her perfect place to relax and enjoy the wind.

The bounty hunter sat there, dominated by a profound sadness, fatigue engraved on her pretty face.  
She warmed her shivering hands together.

'He broke your spirit, didn't he?'

The words kept playing in her mind like twisted torture. Lady clenched her fists, anger flaring ever so often.

"I'm not weak . . . I'm not." She repeated, over and over.

Thinking back to what started this all, Patty couldn't find her the answer to her question.

"Mary died a long time ago. I'm not running from anything."

Why did she say that? Was it embarrassment that she belonged to such a father? Losing her beloved mother to him . . . Damn it!  
She stomped the cold floor. She hissed a breath through clenched teeth. But the strength left her, even as she attempted to stand.

Her throat held back something between a sob and a shout.

She had to see him again. They needed to talk and settle this.

As far as she and Dante was concerned, she was through running a long time ago, her past settled and moved on from.  
Well, Dante the way he was before. What happened to him?

Her cellphone started ringing in her pocket again, and she rolled her eyes in annoyance. She did not want to go out for a job right now, and rest is needed.

Lady pulled the phone, and she was even more troubled to read the name.

Dante.

Lady returned the phone to her pocket and rubbed her temples.  
The fearless bounty huntress couldn't face him, not until she figured out her situation.

The necklace around her neck vibrated a bit too abnormal.  
It was something her mother enchanted in order to protect herself from any demon nearby her, or at least alert her to their presence.

The necklace was supposed to belong to her. But Kalina Ann died young.

"Perfect timing." She smirked and prepared.

**Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this**


	8. - Mister Sandman

Vergil sat on a bench.

Patty was resting her head on his leg for a little nap. She was fast asleep.

Vergil's thought drifted elsewhere once again.

...

A small child wandering the demon world . . . Fear and dread engulfed his every thought.

Anatomy repairing itself without care to the extreme damage.

No Father. No Mother. Not even that stubborn bastard.

...

"That was the past! . . . That was the past. They fear me now." He whispered to himself.

However his eyes caught the sight of a woman.

The prostitute from earlier.

"Hey babe."

He gave a signature scoff.

"What in Sparda's name . . ." He trailed off, angered by her presence.

"Sparda. Handsome devil, he was. But I want you." She replied.

His eyes widened.

"Excuse me?"

The woman was roughly thirty feet away, but suddenly, she appeared to walk across his field of depth, taking one step forward right next to him.

She ran her right hand up his inner thigh, eventually groping his phallus.

He immediately seized her wrist and pulled her arm away.

"Who do you think you are? Don't touch me, whore." He snapped.

Patty was literally only a few inches away.

"And just who do you think you are to refuse me? Devil's sin. So sin, maggot." Her eyes began bleeding, and they glowed a spectral orange.

She thrust her palm to his throat, holding his head back.

He choked, suddenly unable to reach her as her arm elongated and her body moved a million miles away.

There he hung, above a chasm of nothing. And he must scream.

"Useless being." He heard a familiar voice boom in his ears.

His head shot up.

Just a dream . . .

He rubbed his forehead. Next to him, Patty still slept.

Gently, he nudged the girl's rosy cheek.

"Hey, hey. Wake up." His voice was soft to her.

Patty frowned and pushed his hand away.

"Mmmm-Just five more minutes . . ." She mumbled.

He rolled his eyes and forced her up, propping her with one hand into a standing position.

"The sun isn't even out yet." She sleepily stumbled.

Vergil didn't waste any time; he couldn't.

He took off sprinting, dragging Patty with him onto the sidewalk, behind wooden paneling put out for construction.  
Above them, a steel walkway shielded their fair heads.

"Whoa! S-slow down a bit!" She said.

Welp, she was awake now.

It struck her that he was as wide awake as someone needed to be. She could swear he was also sound asleep not too long ago.  
His senses jacked up to high alert.  
He knew what was about to come. Hopefully, the little girl would have the stomach to handle it.

Patty's vision became clouded by something. In the middle of running, something was closing in on them, within her view.

She brought herself closer to 'Dante,' terrified, overpowering all in her way.

"It's alright. You're alright." She heard his voice comfort her. "Fear is your superpower, remember?"

Patty let the words play in her mind for a moment.

So, she tried her best to toughen up.  
However her tiny courage wasn't enough.

From an imperceivable void, nowhere, she felt a rough substance grab her leg and drag her back.

In an instant, she was transported elsewhere.

Helpless screams ripped through her dry throat as she tumbled into blackness, still mid run.

Her hands tried to reach out for anything. She rolled on her side, but didn't scrape her knee.

Strange. She knew she hit a floor.

Once the rush stopped, there was only silence, wherever she was.  
Standing up, Patty opened her eyes only to see nothing.

No light, no Dante.

Her breath pulled back in her throat.

She had fainted; but still, all her consciousness was not gone. She wouldn't admit it, there was hope that perhaps this was a dream.

It feels too real.

What of it there remained, she couldn't define what her mind told her.  
It was certainly similar to a deep sleep, yet she remained wide awake. Everything around her she could feel.

If that made any sense anyway.

"Dante?" She called out to him, "Where did you go?"

An echo of laughter startled her on the spot, wherever she was standing. Trying to walk, her shoes touched the edges of a glass mirror growing in the floor.  
Once her eyes looked down, therein the reflection was Dante.

But he was . . . different.

He had the most menacing smile she'd ever seen, almost like she was watching an eagle ready to eat her.

His cheeks were twisted up to such a degree that he basically looked just like a Harlequin's mask, albeit lacking all the other elements.

"D-Dante?" She whispered and placed her hand on her chest.

"Hehehehmmm . . . Poor Patty. You un-aborted afterbirth." It hissed, "You are going to die here. In this world, nobody wants you . . ."

"Wha- . . . What happened to your face!?" She said, trying her best to ignore those comments, though something told her this thing wasn't what she thought it was.

"You did this to me. The thought of killing you gave me so many happy thoughts, my face just . . . stayed like this." He spoke differently, he acted differently . . .

Was it really Dante?

Nevertheless, tears gathered at the corner of her eyes.

"Why did you say that?" Her voice almost broke.

Dante cocked his head to the side slightly.

"You don't even realize your own mother left you because she hated you. Thankless little bitch, it's your fate to die by my hand. I'll scrape the flesh from your bones!"

. . .

Through a crimson shift, he arrived inside the building.

The place looked like a normal construction site, converted into an old, abandoned church.

It was dimly lit by several old candelabras, though something alien hung amongst them. It looked like a magnefied soma, filled with red light.  
Suspended in it by some kind of field was Patty. Her golden hair was gently floating, as if it were under water.  
She was motionless, almost sleeping peacefully, had it not been for the pain in her lips. Something was tensed behind those closed eyes.

"Just hold on." He told her, "I'm here."

Vergil took a step forward; and then, beating wings filled the air.

The demon revealed itself to him, descending next to her.

It had a bulky body, with the black wings of a raven. The head of a horned gargoyle sadistically glared at him.

"Ulmarag." Vergil spit the name.

"So . . . you do care for this flatworm. At last, you're here Dante." It's words were almost sarcastic, "Like what I've done with the place? Or are you here to question me about Vergil again?"

The man stiffened up when he heard his name called.

The demon crossed it's arms and laughed.

"I told you I buried him under a hole of fear and despair. You should've listened to his tiny cries, calling for mommy! Aahh . . . It brought me soooo much pleasure."

It revealed a forked tongue, which flicked out and rattled like a snake's.  
Across it's chest was battle armor; a tunic of leather and children's skulls woven in.

Two black spikes decorated it's bulbous chin, and those red eyes mocked him as ever.

Black leather armor adorned it's forearms and lower legs, ending in an attached spike at the knees.

Everywhere else was bare, showing off it's diseased, sallow-brown skin.

Vergil remained silent, unsure what to make of this revelation.

Dante sought revenge on his behalf!

"There's no use, Dante." The demon continued. "Killing me wouldn't wash away your guilt. Vergil will always hold it against you. You weren't there for him."

There came again the feeling in his chest. Choking him, corroding . . .

"You've wrapped up Patty in one of your eggs. What's your motivation, eh?" Vergil said.

"Why don't you find out?" mocked Ulmarag, "But don't expect me to be as easy on you."

Vergil wouldn't want it any other way.  
He would gladly slay the beast, if not for Patty, then for himself.

It dared to hurt him, it dared to torment him, when he was just a boy.

Now again, as a man.

"I guess you're next on my list. Let's go." He said, monotone.

He flexed his right arm, his hand lurching back. Vergil's face was set, daring Ulmarag to make the first move, which it gladly did.

It flew up, towards Patty.

The dark slayer immediately rushed toward it, launching himself up for a punch.

Ulmarag faked him out, swooping around the egg's orbit, then slamming it's large, clawed arm at Vergil's midriff. Crashing to the ground, the man left a depression in the concrete as it crumbled.

Using a kip-up, he returned to stand, though he was met with a barrage of fists.

Defending himself with trapping hands and elbow counters, he attempted to catch the beast off guard.

It didn't work.

Though he exposed a weak point in the monster's offense, when he attempted to take advantage, it caught his fist, unexpectedly.

"Do you think I've forgotten, boy!?" It said as it thrashed him by his wrist into the imported statue of Christ.

He tumbled a bit, no worse for wear.

"I won't forgive our last meeting. Unlike others, I am no coward, son of Sparda." It said, arrogant.

Probably because it held the upper hand. For now.

It's voice was deep, deeper than any human could naturally make their throat descend.  
Vergil hated that tone. It was clear to him now, the Beast had a longer history with Dante than he presumed.

It flew at him before he could summon Yamato, and grasped him by his throat.

"Where are those toys you call gauntlets? Beowulf was a great warrior. You? Are an exercise." The beast declared, snarling in his face with those blackened teeth.

'I knew I should have grabbed those infernal Ifrit.'

So, he resolved to prove it wrong.

Vergil channeled his inner devil and brought his fist into it's hand-wrapped knuckles.

He put enough strength behind it that a crimson cloud burst out from the point of impact. The pressure created a sickening crunch in the beast's wrist.  
It shouted in pain. That was unexpected.  
And so it tried for a haymaker, bringing the rejected fist back.

He sidestepped underneath it, then backed away as the demon swiped horizontally. The strokes looked powerful, but they were slow. Everything those large arms touched turned to debris.

A normal human in his place would be squashed into the pavement.

Reaching it's backside, Vergil rammed a powerful, savage elbow into the small of it's back.

It's whole body shifted forward, spasming in pain for a few seconds as it roared.

A small trickle of scarlet dripped from the welt he issued.

Enraged, Ulmarag shot back, launching a backhanded swing.  
It dozed the young slayer on his chin, knocking him off his feet. Rising a few feet above the ground on it's Raven wings, it thrust it's claws forward in a flash of light.

The air around him shimmering orange, he looked to see his foe.

On his back, Ulmarag spat down at him, "Time to face my wrath, child."

Through the light, figures formed in front of him.  
Slowly, the figures of Dante's life appeared, and eventually, the floor became engulfed with shadows.

First his mother, despairing for his aid.

The figure of his father came next, looking at him choleric.

And the third one was his own shadow, bizarrely enough.

"Help me!" Eva cried falling on her knees, "Please!"

"You are nothing without me." Sparda took steps forward, "How dare you stand where I stood. You left your own brother to die! You will pay for it, I promise you!"

His own doppelganger came forward.

"I loved you Dante, I wanted us to be a dynamic duo. Unstoppable. I wanted you to be safe with me."

Vergil took a step back, slightly confused. Ulmarag really didn't have any idea how he talked.

Dynamic duo?

What was that?

No wonder Dante was able to fight against this monster's mind games.

"How did you repay me? You killed me." Well, that was closer, he supposed.

Vergil thought about what he was seeing for a moment.  
Were these his own words, is this what he really felt?  
No, he felt his father would probably be disappointed or proud, depending which thought process he subscribed to.  
His mother was far more than just a whimpering, useless woman.

This must be Dante's guilt, manifested to life.

Viewing them as inferior beings, Vergil walked past them.

Each one of them malformed, trying to pin him down.  
Their eyes grew as big as saucers; hysterical. Their mouths twisted into impossible grins.

Their hands grew talons. So, they used them to maul.

He lost track of Sparda, and it sliced him up through the collar bone.

He staggered back, grasping his shoulder.

Ulmarag, watching from afar, gave an excited laugh and pumped it's arm enthusiastically.

He took a breath, and as they forced him to the ground, his own twisted self pushed his head against the ground, clasping it's aberrant paw around his face.  
His fists tightened, his eyes glowed crimson, and his teeth gritted.  
With a yell, he generated an explosion of molten energy, taking his pain away.

The clones disintegrated, breaking apart back into dust.

Ulmarag swooped back into the fray.

It had advantages in both height and weight, but Vergil was no slowpoke.

His speed and agility outranked the tormentor's. They traded blows, the entity refusing to let him get away.

Vergil knew Ulmarag wouldn't go down easy.

He threw out a punch, and their fists collided.  
A burst of negative emotion shuddered through the drywalls.

It shrieked in surprise as the slayer's fist sent damage traveling up it's whole arm.

Glowing red from the cracks formed, the demon clutched the limb and stumbled back.

Howling at him, it swept it's hand and became hidden behind a wall of shadow.

A new set of clones materialized.

They all went for his weak points, scratching, biting, then snagging, scraping, and manhandling.  
His doppelganger slashed open the back of his leg, forcing him onto one knee.

It thumped him across the face, but he stayed still.

It tried again, but Vergil caught the blow. His wound healed, closing up, and he stood eye to eye.  
No, these cracked reflections would not best him.

Not again.

In a rage, he punched a hole through through it's left eye, leaving it to wrangle backward in pain.

His mother charged at him, screaming like a banshee. He dodged a downward swipe and shot his knee into her stomach.

It sputtered, suspended in air. Moving like a bullet, he seized that false mane of hair, and threw her at the brute's hiding spot.

The copy shattered into shards, lacerating Ulmarag's face.

It screeched.

Not so smart now? Couldn't see that one coming?

"You little son of a bitch!" It heaved at him.

Sparda came.

The two clashed together, locking fingers in a power struggle.  
Purple energy erupted out from them, the illusion possessing greater power than any of the others.

Sparda appeared to dominate him, overwhelming his son with sheer force.

"You dare hurt your mother!? You pathetic worm!"

Vergil's eyes glowed, and Sparda showed him it's fear.

"And you aren't worthy to call yourself Sparda." He replied.

Standing back up to the challenge, he readjusted his grip, clasping onto it's claws, digging his fingers in between it's knuckles.  
He twisted his hands forward, placing more and more pressure on it's wrists.

Slowly but surely . . . Crack.

Both Sparda's joints snapped like twigs.

His eyes glistered hostility.  
The clone fell on it's knees, shaking.

Looking up at him, it met Vergil's merciless gaze.

"Begone, imposter." The man barked, grabbing both sides of it's head. He compressed the skull inward, smashing the entity to dust.

Before the body could disappear, he launched it behind him with the eyes of spite, and it, too, collided with it's encroaching master.

Ulmarag had attempted to jump him from behind, it's gothic-leather shoulder-guards protecting it's arms.  
The body broke against it, slicing through the tendons in it's legs and blinding it temporarily.

"Aaah!" the beast cried, tumbling on the ground toward him.

Vergil grabbed it's arm and leg mid spin, and traveled with it.

When it had turned sideways, he placed his knee before him, and plunged down to the ground.

Ulmarag hit the floor, the ribcage splintering inside, beneath the slayer's weight.  
It's hip dislocated, as did it's left shoulder blade.

The man let go, batted away by the animal's pinions.

They carried the injured savage back into the shadow, seeking to bide time.

His back turned, his own clone assaulted him, jumping atop his shoulders to try and force him off-balance. The thing had recovered, still held together by strands.

It wrapped it's arms around his neck, driving him to the ground.

This pitiful manifestation tried so desperately to choke him out, but it's real counterpart rammed the hollow gut with his elbow.

It disintegrated into unreality.

"I'll get you for that, Dante! You think I'd just let you defeat me so easily? You mock me without your father's blade, child!" It's smoother qualities disappeared, revealing a disheveled, rusted-out growl.

It sounded like gravel being set on fire. How wonderful.

With that, he'd had enough.

Vergil summoned Yamato. Gathering the power within the sheath, he backtracked slightly, leaning over his sword in anticipation.  
A cobalt shine cut through the bleak fog. Judgment cut, a power nothing could run away from.

The man held the blade, pouring within it his hate.

In an instant, he released a vortex of azure energy, and forever banished the darkness, slicing through the candelabras and the other church apparel.

Before him, the demon revealed.

He lunged forth, speeding off the ground, and brought with him a sonic slash.

The cut stung, sending a spray of blood into the air, as well as a few white lights. Ulmarag's glaring eyes missed the sight.

"Your soul will be mine, Dante!" It brayed, flying forward, twisting around to gain momentum. It went for a power-infused slug, attempting to catch Vergil by surprise.

It's fist was diverted to the side, caught by a vigilant Yamato.

"I'm. Not. Dante." He growled, eye's shimmering scarlet.

It retreated a step, returning it's feet to the ground. Eye's widening, that blade . . .

"What!? No, no! That blade . . . Those eyes . . . How!?" It stumbled, terrified.

Vergil walked forward, consumed with hatred.

"Because I despise you." He answered, his aura growing larger by the second. The demon's thick fingers coiled into fists once more.

It dove again, intent on disemboweling it's old victim.  
It met a salvo of summoned swords, piercing it's armor.

With malice in his heart and madness in his palms, he made them exploded with the snap of his fingers.

The beast was torn and stabbed to oblivion, bouncing around like a pinball within a sadistic machine.

It survived, managing to hold itself together somehow.

Recovering, it rushed toward him and grabbed his throat, lifting the man off the ground. Hot electricity crackled at it's grip, shunting through his neck, and sending him into a seizure.

He felt himself growing weaker and weaker. This old technique. His demonic energy was being sucked out.

In a spiteful thrash, he yelled, and Yamato fluxed.

A bright, royal-purple wave pulsed from the edge as he brought it up for a slash.

The force broke Ulmarag's hold.

It's stomach tore open, the strike burning through it's armor. Any advantage was lost. The creature stepped back, squirming as various veins exposed their nerves to the open air.

The twitching almost looked like a dance.

Enraged and driven to psychosis, Ulmarag roared and summoned up hellfire.

It cauterized the wound, first and foremost.

Despite hurting far worse than anything it ever knew, the tactic brought immediate relief. Through suffered breath's, it's face clenched and became veined.

Vergil fell to the ground on his knees, holding his throat.

He always hated that one. It kept him weak, prevented him from escape. Just like Ulmarag loved.

'Come on. You are stronger than this. You're above this lowly pain.'

He shamed himself.

Before he had the chance to return, Ulmarag smacked him across the face. Metal wires emerged from it's skin and wrapped around it's knuckles, so the blow hurt a lot more.

It knocked Vergil off balance, and it followed up with a fist to his stomach, ramming the reinforced duke as far as it could.

He sailed into the wood pews on the side.

They came apart easily against his weight, fragmenting.

Yamato worked furiously to help him regain his composure. A sudden burst of power cascaded through him. His eyes blazed a furious vermillion.  
The blade surged again, clearing the debris away.  
Vergil pushed himself to his feet. He drove forward, in his hand Yamato, coated in mixed; violet energy.

He met Ulmarag head on.

Slashing downward, he cut through the front of the demon's leg, leaving a giant gash below the ocher, trojan kilt.

The monster pushed the man back, raven wings carrying it high to the ceiling.  
A black aura began to emanate around it. The shadows of every object cried out to it, the entity trying to leech them for strength.

But Vergil was faster.

The Cambion, embracing his darker half, caught them all one by one, overpowering the demon's aura with his own.

Oh, how they felt welcoming, the cool shade rejuvenating the marrow in his bones.

He'd lived in the dark for a long time.  
The umbra obeyed him; respected his stygian spirit.

The air trembled with an unseen force.

"You ruinous half-ling, I should have killed you when I had the chance!" Hollered the brute from above. It charged down for another clash.

Vergil backpedaled, baiting the beast with renewed zeal, and led it on far away from the girl.

It worked, the beast following him out to the edge of the unfinished building, thrashing through stacked pipes and carts with equipment. There were no walls here.

Then, the man did something it didn't expect.

He jumped.

Overcome by rage, Ulmarag would not let the boy escape his grasp again. It tore after him, speeding along trying to claw him . . . Vergil smiled back at his pursuer.

A tainted, scarlet aura erupted from the man's body, and soon it changed.

He released the beast within. The Majin.

Ulmarag lurched back, horrified by the change.

Growing to match the creature in size, he soon grew larger. Four bat wings emerged from his back, and his body became covered in inky, insect-like armor.

Violence had arrived.

He lashed out again, releasing a spine from within his arms, a burning blade of power, slashing the demon across it's chest.  
Followed immediately by a sparking, crimson meteor from his other hand.  
It was blasted far above into the air, and he flew after it. This was his prey now.

Seizing it by the throat, Vergil flew the beast beyond the roof.

Forcing it into the pale moonlight, he glared into it's eyes. Ulmarag was so small now. He laughed in it's struggling face.

Then, without waring, he dragged his foe down, carrying the pest by it's throat.  
Not letting go, he ripped it down into the construction area, slamming into a set of metal rebars.

Blood spewed. The creature howled.

Vergil towered above the defeated creature.

The demon gagged on it's own bodily fluids, while Vergil turned back.

Resuming his human visage, the son of Sparda held the creature's head up.

Sneering, he said, "So, how have you been? You'll forget about this girl, and the person who contacted you. Unless you want me to kill you for real."

A laugh broke through the demon's throat, ending in a fit of coughing.

"He he, you don't know the half of it, do you?" Vergil's shoved his other hand on the demon's throat, forming a tight grip.

"I don't like jokes." Vergil spoke bitterly, "Speak. Whatever you think punishment feels like, I promise I can take you closer to home."

His eyes returned to evil, and his voice deepened.

"A- . . .-Alright. The girl you're protecting is nothing more than a ploy." It was having trouble breathing.

He loosed his grip, and it appeared to inhale deeply, showing gratitude for the return of air to it's lungs.  
Coughing further, it continued.

" . . . Aheh, ugh . . . A ploy," It spat up blood, dripping down the side of it's face, "-For the real Patty Lowell."

What!?

"This one I caught? She's the descendant of Allen Lowell . . . a great trophy I desired. Hehehe, why bother making a deal with a human if it's not for something special?" It quipped.

Allen Lowell?

Who the hell is this now?

However, Vergil could not question the demon any longer.

Taking advantage of his distraction, it vanished within seconds, taking the top half of the rebars with it.  
Enraged, Vergil scanned around, but couldn't spot it.

He screamed to the sky, and smashed his hands down on the blood-stained cement block, crumbling it to tiny pieces.

The force field broke instantly.

Patty hit the ground, crying. Vergil heard her wails, and sprinted with all his speed towards the edge.

Launching off, he fell till he met the right level, and placed his hands out. Gripping them backwards, he swung in and slid on the floor.  
He hated landings like that. Searching for her, he found the girl once more, sobbing to herself flat on the ground.

He ran to her.

"Hey. Hey! Look at me; just look at me." He repeated till she listened.

He could see it on her face, what she'd seen. What Ulmarag had forced her to hear.

"What?" She stammered, oddly enough spitting an attitude at him, as if he'd told her to go to her room.

Well, at least her willpower held out.

"Whatever you heard in there, whatever you saw, it wasn't real, okay? Look at me," He said again, and she did, still hurt, but hopeful, "I didn't say those things, nor do I feel them true."

She was somewhat reassured.

"R-Really?" She said, wiping away her tears.

"Yes, really. It was . . . It was just a nightmare. There was a bad man." He told her.

"A bad man?"

"Yes, a very bad man. And he was cruel. He abused people for fun, torturing them in their dreams. He wanted to hurt you, so he put you in that place."

Her breath stifled a bit, doing that little rapid thing Vergil found annoying usually.  
She made it adorable.

"How do you know?" She asked, wiping at her eyes.

"Because he put me there too, when I was your age."

She looked at his face. It was horrid for him to recall.

"How did you get out?" Patty replied.

"I didn't. I had to stay in there, alone . . . That's why I came after the bad man. I couldn't let him do that to you, or anyone else."

His heart bled for her, for the pain he'd gone through.

Should anyone else be forced to do so as well?  
He once thought so. He used to believe everyone deserved the pain they got.

Patty took a moment to breath. Her hands immediately tugged on the necklace. Those watery eyes enlarged, and the hairs on the nape of her neck bristled.

"I think- . . . I think it's going to be fine then." She whispered, burrowing her head in his clothes.

He didn't know what to do.  
It was awkward for him, not that he was averse to another human's touch.

He just wasn't that close to children.

Vergil slowly placed his hand on the back of her head, soothing her pain as he did his.

"Hey now, don't . . . It's over. It's all right." He said gently.

It took a moment for her brain to register what he just said.

Patty lifted her sleeve once again and examined her marking. Before her eyes, it slowly vanished like magic.

Within seconds, it was totally gone. She started laughing.

Slowly, she adjusted and he set her down on her feet.

"Finally . . . I didn't think-" She couldn't even finish her sentence, she was so happy.

Vergil watched her sadness evaporate. Indeed, it felt nice, and she looked cute as a button laughing, holding those tiny hands together.  
His lips moved to half a smile. It's going to be hard telling her the truth.

Poor girl, stuck in the middle of this mess.

Out In The Street

Noises started gathering down the empty boulevard.

Life started again and Patty could not feel any more happier. It's all over. She can be normal now.

However, to her surprise, 'Dante' took her hand and rounded to a marketplace.

"Wait, why are we here?"

But he didn't answer. He just kept leading her on until they stopped inside someplace. She didn't bother looking at the sign as they entered.

Here, they stopped in the middle of an empty store, a large freezer in front of them.

"Pick one you like." He grumbled.

Really? The son of Sparda: reduced to buying ice cream for a child. Hmph.

The freezer was stacked high with all of Patty's favorites, chocolate, french vanilla, metropolitan, chunky monkey, raspberry ripple, cookie dough, cookie's n' cream, the list goes on.

Even tin roof sundae was here.

So much more! So many choices for her.

As her breath fogged up the glass, another customer entered, abruptly cutting in front of her as she tried to make a decision.  
She took a step back and waited until they were gone; this wasn't something she liked to rush.

Vergil suppressed his desire to kill, but the 'rude' woman stopped and looked at him, sensing his prismatic charisma.  
Most devils manifest it when taking human form.

She was there with her son, who was oddly around the same age as Patty.

She was thin, blonde, and cute.

She smiled at him, and he didn't know what to do.

"Oh, sorry, did I cut in front of you? We're new in town." She said to him.

"Like that's an excuse." He muttered.

"Yeesh, I didn't mean it personally. Sorry." She replied.

"Oh, it's alright. I'm just- She needed some cheering up. Had a bit of a fall on the-. . .-playground." He wasn't as good as Dante when it came to lying or going with the flow.

The woman thought his social awkwardness was endearing. At least he wasn't rude.  
There was a nagging fear he might've been, though it disappeared.

Patty kept mulling over the decision, not paying any attention.

"Ah, yeah, I know what that's like. This little guy gets cranky if the drive's too long. What's your name?" She said.

"V- Dante." He replied.

"Dante, huh? A bit out there. I'm Jessica, this is Ryan." She said, motioning to her son.

The boy looked at him aspiringly. He thought his red jacket was just the coolest.

"You look awesome mister." The boy declared.

Vergil didn't quite know what to do, so he just smiled.

"Thanks. My brother- er, 'gave' me this." It wasn't as painful anymore, but it didn't affect his heart any less.

He felt a bit nervous in his stomach.  
This was a woman who was neither a prostitute, nor Mary.

What was wrong with him, he could be comfortable. If Dante could do it, so could he.

"This is Patty." He said, relaxing his shoulders.

The child turned her head, wondering why he mentioned her.  
She saw a cute boy about her age, and about the most gorgeous blonde she'd seen in a while.

She was perfectly proportioned, with a healthy tan to her skin and maroon nail polish.  
Wearing a brown jacket over a green dressy-blouse tunic, and blue jeans with cowgirl boots, she looked like a classy Texan girl.

Was she from there?

"So, where are you visiting from?" Vergil asked.

"San Antonio."

She was right.

"We're here on vacation, though i'm looking into staying longer, maybe." The woman elaborated.

"I see. You here with anyone?" He asked, easing into a Dante-like drawl, "Or is it just you two?"

Vergil remained reserved, but not too closed off. God, balancing between himself and Dante was hard.  
Still though, it was getting easier.

"Nope, it's just us. I'm single, so vacation time is easier." She said, casually dropping the information.

"Well, this town's as good a place as any." He said, then felt a tugging on his coat.

He looked down to see Patty.  
Vergil could see the gears just a'turnin in her head.

"Uh, made up your mind yet . . . sweet-ie?" Oh.

Oh, that just felt wrong. No. No, he wouldn't say that ever again.

She nodded her head regardless.

A young, gawky teenager came out with a misspelled nametag reading 'Jardon.'

"Hey guy's, can i get anything started?" Jardon addressed them as one family unit.

Vergil felt uncomfortable again.

"Oh no, we're not together." The woman corrected.

"Oh sorry, is anyone ready?" He said.

"Yep, i'll have a . . . " As she and her son ordered, Patty wrote something down on a piece of paper, then handed it to him.

Vergil groaned on the inside.

This sucked. Trying to do one nice thing and it turns into a production.

As the guy behind the counter fixed up their ice creams, the little girl approached Jessica.

"Excuse me." She said.

"Oof, hi there!" The woman replied, "What's up, honey?"

"My daddy's shy." She said.

Vergil's head shot forward, and his eyes zeroed in on Patty, wider than ever.

Oh dear god, no.

"Uh huh . . ." The woman said, a bit confused. The girl motioned with her finger, and she leaned in as Patty whispered in her ear.

Vergil heard every word.

Every.

Single.

One.

The woman smiled, and stood back up.

"I see. Well thank you very much." She said to the girl.

The boy at the counter interrupted.

"Okay, your total today is gonna be 10.68." He said.

She pulled out eleven dollars.

"All righty-then, and your change is thirty two cents. Thank you, come again, ma'am!" He said enthusiastically as the two left.

Vergil looked down at Patty, horrified.

"Okay, sorry about the wait folks, what can I get ya?" The clerk said, turning his attention to them.

"Wha-. . . ?" The slayer said, barely turning his head to look.

"Hmhm, What would you like, sir?" Jardon said, chuckling a bit.

He looked down at the paper she'd handed him.  
She'd decided that nothing beats cookie dough or cookies and cream. So she wanted both. In a cup.

A tall cup.

With the store music playing softly behind the noise of the pedestrians outside, she laughed internally at the stupid covers of the magazines next to the counter.

Well, nothing left to do now.

"Are you sure?" He asked

"Yep." She said with a wide a smile.

The two took a seat outside the store. There were a few metal tables and some chairs, so they grabbed two.

Patty sat with a pink spoon and her tall cup, eating. Each bite was just frosty goodness. In a tall cup.

Her joy was boundless, and she wound up getting some of it on her cheek.  
She didn't notice at all, looking like a girl who was trying ice cream for the first time.  
Vergil was scowling, and most definitely noticed.

She stopped when she realized he was staring at her.

"What?" She asked him.

He stayed silent, taking a napkin and wiping off the schmutz off her face.

She laughed and evaded him.

"Would you hold still, child?" He wasn't nasty about it, decidedly remaining light-hearted just a bit with his delivery.

"Yes sir." She retorted, suddenly stiffening up like a board.

He wiped the substance away fully, then threw the napkin in the trash recepticle behind him.

"There." He said, glad it was over, "That's better."

Vergil stayed scowling, sitting back in the chair.

Patty kept on enjoying every bite, seeming to know he was still scowling and just reacting this way to get on his nerves.  
He kept himself reserved, and he just looked at the ground. He decided this was the best thing to do till she finished up.

He heard footsteps.

Good, was it another demon?

"It doesn't hurt to smile, ya know." It was Jessica, Ryan was in the car just a few feet away.

Greeeeaaat.

"Oh, uh hello again." He said, somewhat positive, but lacking any confidence whatsoever.

"Hey, cheer up. Your little gal's looking all better already. Speaking of which . . ." She said, reaching for something from her black purse.

He got a bit antsy.

"Here!" The woman said, beaming a smile at him, "You can thank that girl right there for that."

She was boastful of Patty, like she was his actual daughter.

It was her phone number, signed Jessica S. Mero. That's from Texas, all right.

His cheeks lit up.  
A strange buzz entered his stomach.

Really? How could he be affected by these humanistic flaws?

"Uhm, thank you." He said, unsure how to reply.

"Ahehe, I know you'll come out of your shell sometime." She said, "See ya later."

And like that, she walked to her car and drove away, her boy in tow.  
Good grief, how awkward was that?  
Should he tear it up? Her hotel information was on their too, on the back.

She'd written it on the back of the hotel's greeting card.

Maybe it was better to keep it, he could always use the hotel as a hideout, come the day . . .

Or he should just rip it up. Or maybe not.

She liked him. For some odd reason . . .

...

'Well . . .' He weighed the options in his head.

Vergil pocketed the number his jacket for later, and instantly received a look from Patty, who'd finished.

"What?"

"Oh . . . Nothing." She said, all proud of herself.

He scoffed and threw her trash away.  
The two walked off, getting back on track.

There wasn't much time left now.  
.  
...Thank you for reading...


	9. Never Be Lonely

Once they were out in the main street, Vergil's ears caught the sound of something that made him feel angry.

'Thank you Miss Lowell. Yes, it's me. I have been waiting here for awhile now' A woman with short blonde hair was talking in the phone a bit far in the front of them.

So this is the one, the demon talked about.

The real Patty Lowell.

"Yes, it's safe for me to leave."

So the bitch was making sure Patty is alive and safe?

And with that, he took Patty's hand and went with her to the sidewalk. He hailed and almost immediately, a taxi driver felt pulled to him, wanting to come help the man.  
Magnetically, the driver became inclined to be of service, cutting over four lanes and making a u-turn.

"Are you okay?" She asked. Once she took a seat behind the driver.

"Yes. Yeah . . . it's fine. Just tired." He replied and gave the driver the address.

The man smiled and nodded. When's the last time a cabbie smiled at anyone?  
Things were looking up.

"That'll be 28.50." The man said, enthusiastic, and started the car.

Getting the girl to her destination was costly. He needed to get some additional form of income if this was what it took to get his normal jobs done.

"Haah . . . Alright." Vergil closed the door. He was exasperated, staying silent for most of the ride. His eyes watched the scenery, his thoughts drifting towards somewhere else.

His mind had a bad habit of wandering these days.

* * *

**...20 years ago...**

* * *

It was a cool autumn morning. Children ran around a playground, making piles out of the brown-reddish leaves. Then they'd jump straight in, just to hear them crunch.  
A few other's had some family pets, like golden retrievers and one had large Great Pyrenees. They were all beautiful.  
The pieces of those leaves scattered about in the air and flew like feathers on the wind.

A couple of picnic baskets scattered about, with the mothers and fathers helping their children up onto the monkey bars.

There, a seven year-old, cheerful little kid played in the swing. His arms were wide open, and his eyes closed, like he's welcoming the wind and the beautiful feeling that followed it.  
Right next to him was his brother, standing up and pushing himself as fast as he could.

"Honey, that's dangerous. You could fall and hurt yourself." Eva shouted, anger hidden with each word she said.

Her blonde hair danced along the chilling winds.

"Don't worry! I'll be fine!" The tone of his voice changed every time he fell up and returned back.

He then felt her warm hand touch his shoulder and push him a bit faster. Vergil opened his eyes and met her gentle blue eyes.

Eva smiled back at him.

"Five more minutes, then we go back home, okay?" She said loud enough for both to hear.

* * *

He grunted and lowered his head, holding it between his hands. Why can't he stop thinking about this?

Why; everywhere he goes it triggers a memory.

"Enough. I don't want this anymore." He thought to himself.

An attempt to clear his tired mind but it wasn't any use.

"Are you feeling well, bud?" The driver asked.

He pulled himself back to a rigid, upright position.

"I'm fine. It was a long day." He grumbled.

"Yeah I feel ya . . . I had to wake up early so I could get the customers in the rich district. It's a real pain, but otherwise I can't make enough to make ends meet." The man said casually.

The rest of the drive went silent and smooth.

. . .

Patty stepped from the taxi car, gaping at the large mansion that set them beyond the sidewalk, towering over her as if attempting to intimidate.  
The cream coating of the paint shined as the sun beat down, causing her to have to squint. Uniquely twisted fencing kept the house enclosed, neatly trimmed hedges surrounded the house.  
Up above, the roof was peaked, slanting down at an angle.

As she stepped onto the sidewalk, she noticed a marble fountain sitting towards the right side of the lawn.

An angel held a flower, perched atop, looking up to the sky. Water spurted from its other hand, which lay gently out in front of it's robe, waiting perpetually for someone to take it in return.  
The water fell gently towards the crystal blue pool beneath it, causing ripples to form and wave out until they were no more.

"Patty . . ." She heard 'Dante' call her name, in a tone she could not quiet recognize. He knelt down to look at her, "There's been a mistake."

"What do you mean?" She wondered.

Dante paused for a moment trying to find the proper words for this.

"You've been tricked.  _This_  . . . Isn't your home."

The words made her wheels turn for a moment, before it clicked.

"You mean the man who died isn't my dad?"

"Afraid not." He shook his head, strangely coming across as more 'Dante' unintentionally than when he tried to do so earlier.

"Remember the woman we met before we arrived here?  _That_  is the real Patty Lowell. She'll inherit all this."

Patty frowned and crossed her arms.

"So you're telling me I went through all of this for a-. . . A stupid trick! Why did you even bring me here? You could just take me back to the Orphanage or something, seriously."

She was hurt.

Vergil raised and eyebrow, a bit surprised by her reaction. But she's right, getting marked by a demon and barely sleeping for 2 days.  
Witnessing the pantheon of Ulmarag's cacophonous trickery was punishment enough. But all for what? Some selfish woman who would go home pleasantly and claim her fortune.

"Let's go meet the cause of your misery." He decided.

The two entered through the double door and they were met by two armed servants.

"Hey, who do you think you are?" One of them spoke, aiming his gun at them.

Patty moved to the side slightly, while Vergil gazed at him, eventually countering with a smirk.

"Ah, my apologies. Where are my manners?" He said and placed his hand on his chest.

"You see, I'm miss Lowell's bodyguard."

The other man came closer to his co-worker and prepared.

"Damn right, you can't just bust into a place like this. Get out, or we'll shoot out."

Oh they thought they were  _so,_ what with there cheeky little peashooters.

Patty tugged at his arm like always, worried.

"It's not worth it." She whispered. The little girl actually knew what went on in his head.

Vergil simply placed his hand on her shoulder and pushed her back.

"Go ahead, shoot me if you're brave." He said, relaxing his hands and keeping them at the ready.

Patty was never sure what it was they saw on his face at that moment, because she was behind him, out of their view, but whatever it was, it made them run to the hills.  
They practically tripped over everything in their way, scrambling like little insects away from a spider.

"Cool." She commented, holding back her laugh at the ridiculous sight.

So they continued up the cleanly carpeted stairs.  
Vergil stopped at the peak for a moment.  
Judging by the smell, there were three men . . . and an artificial demon.

'Times up, we did it. The fortune's ours.' He heard someone say.

'Turns out the message is just fake, there is no Patty Lowell.' Then the sound of the door followed, where that woman entered.

"An artificial demon. Interesting." He murmured and went to the left hall, jogging. Before he could touch the handle he sensed the power radiate quickly.

Vergil motioned to Patty to stay back. He took a breath and kicked the door using the strength of his left leg.

There before him stood a dark green, abnormally thin demon, who still possessed humanoid features, albeit stretched out.  
A blonde woman slumped to the side, terrified.

His eyes shimmered red as he summoned the phantom blades. A circle that spun till it was a blur, ramming itself into the creature as he cooly strode to the enemy's position.  
A loud growl broke through the building as the attack left it stunned for a moment.

He rushed forward and leaped above the creature, ultimately crashing his boot down onto it's neck.  
That loud roar became replaced with a sick hissing as he summoned a sword and shunted it into it's forehead.

And the beast was done.

There was some gunfire. A flick of the wrist and their heads came free.

All that remained was the misery.

She who was to blame.

So he stared behind him at the cowering woman.

Those human eyes gazed back at him, surprised and confused.

"So,  _you're_  the one who paid me to protect Patty. Were you trying to feel better about yourself, considering all the horror you put this child through?" Turning as he said this.

The woman stayed silent, fear chilling itself on her spine by just looking into those cold orbs.

Those eyes . . . They were the blackest she'd ever seen.

"I . . . I never." She stuttered.

Vergil smirked and started pacing slowly toward her. His mind raced to find the torment, scanning through his mind palace's index of all the things he could do to settle this.

"You deserve punishment. Just like them." He snarled.

The woman squirmed back, until she touched the wall. Her hoarse breath was going to make her pass out any minute.

"N-no! That child!" She pointed, "I can take care of her! Please, let me take care of her. I-. . . I-I can make amends for my sins!"

"No." He said plainly.

"What!? Why not?" She said, desperate.

"I don't trust you." He replied, chuckling a bit at her preposterous offer.

His hand reaching for Yamato.  
If Dante ever wondered why he didn't desire the presence of female company much, this is one fine example.

It seems their mother was one of a kind. No one's worthy.

"Wait, whoa! Dante!" Her pleas didn't gain a response, so she tried again, "Dante! Dante stop! Don't- You can't hurt her!"

He kept staring, intent on making up for the mistake of letting Ulmarag go.

" _Dante!_ You told me _no one_ should experience the kind of pain Ulmarag put you through _, don't be the one to inflict it!_ " The young Patty finally bellowed at him, breaking his concentration completely.

He looked at her, taken aback.

Tears ran from her face as she tried to understand this convoluted man.

He remained silent, suddenly ashamed of what he was thinking. It was this Patty's voice, and her's alone that stopped him. His expression softened slightly.

"But Patty-"

"I know, I still can't believe all of this. But enough! No more." She interrupted.

Vergil closed his eyes for a second.  
It's the child's choice, since it's her problem.

"Fine." He relaxed, receding the Devil back behind the wall of his soul, and started backing away from the woman.

The woman started to gain her normal breathing, but her mind still focused on that bargain.

"Patty! Thank you, please consider staying with me. I can help you out; the inheritance, all this, the money . . . we can live together live a family! I promise."

Patty stared at 'Dante,' prying for his thoughts, though she knew they would not come.

Finally, he looked back at her, frankly dejected.

"I think . . . I think it's safer for you to stay here." His words sounded bitter, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

The little girl looked at him, confused, shaking her head without a question.

"I want to go back with you. Please?" Patty said, her voice beginning to break.

He wouldn't hear of it.

So another tear fell to the ground.

"But, I finally have a daddy to hold onto."

The word daddy sent a shock down his spine.  
Did the little girl really see him like that? Of all people, she's actually happy with him?

A part of him wanted her to stay around a little bit so badly, that kind of person made him feel . . .

No, it's better for her to have a stable home. Unlike that infernal Orphanage.

Vergil sighed to himself and knelt down to her once again.

"You can still visit me in the shop, anytime ya want." He spoke in a soft tone, more in-character than he'd ever been.

His eyes darted back to the confused woman, then once more to Patty.

"And if that woman does  _anything_  to you, I'm one phone call away."

Without hesitation, Patty embraced him, burying her face in his shoulder.  
And he could feel her urge to cry, but she held it back.

She held onto him for what seemed like hours, refusing to let it end, even though they all knew it had to now.

She finally let go, choked but dry at least.

"I won't forget what you told me . . . " She said, barely keeping her voice.

"What's that?" He said, retaining a stoic face.

"Fear is my superpower. And I'm so afraid." She said, the words moving through him like Dante's bullets.

Oh god, was it too late to take it back? It was.

"I'll come for you tomorrow." She said into his arm.

Vergil rubbed the back of her head.

He chuckled and pulled back from her, "I'm sure you will. You're a brave, if not stubborn, girl."

The girl smiled at him, acknowledging his successful sarcasm.  
Patty allowed a bright smile to grace her face, and she placed her hands on her hips.

"Yes, I am. I can hold my own well enough."

Well, that was good enough for him. If he stayed any longer, he'd never leave.

Vergil started walking toward the door, before he glanced at them one more time.

He addressed the woman, "You see me again, it won't be good for you. Run. Or, do what you promised."

"I will." She replied without a hint of hesitation, albeit terrified.

. . .

He did not feel like going all the way back through normal transportation.  
So he went for an empty alley and made sure no one was there to see him.

Vergil drew Yamato and placed it to the side, summoning it's powers. And with a swift movement he made a cut through empty air. Midnight energy erupted from within the steel of the blade.  
Once he drew it back, a portal ripped open before his eyes. His fast way back home, where he belonged, at least for the time being.

Once his shoes touched the portal, dark energy flow through him, and a bit of dizziness followed the motion.

It took him a moment to balance himself, but it was fine. He did this before and he should be fine doing it now. Once his vision cleared, he was at Dante's bedroom.

He wanted to sit and be alone for the rest of the day, have some peace of mind, since it was already nightfall.  
However the scent in the place stopped him.

It's her. She's there at the door.

'Perfect timing, I need to talk to her.' He went out of the room and through the glass decorated door.

He could see the light in the place was still on, as usual.

But before he could do anything, Lady kicked the door and entered without saying anything.

Fully armed and ready.

"A knock and a hello would be more appropriate when entering someone's home, don't you think?" He addressed her a bit annoyed.

Lady sighed. Her eyes held determination, that much he can tell.

"Tell me why? Why did you say it to me? What gives you the right to judge  _me_  and label  _me_  weak?" She growled at him.

Vergil crossed his arms.

"So, you're seeking answers from me."

"I can't believe how much you've changed Dante." She said in disbelief, adding, "You used to respect me and my choices. One of the reasons I believed in you."

Vergil bared his teeth.

"And you should wake up and realize running away from your past'll make you fall to your weakness. I know this more than anyone else!"

Lady was silent for a moment, taken aback by the change of tone.

"My past is already settled. I moved on with my life. Looks like you forgot to."

Once again she could not read his expression at all.

She couldn't understand him anymore.

"I knew I shouldn't have trusted you . . . I can't believe you used my own history against me. Do you even realize what that name symbolizes for me?" She then spat at him, landing a saliva on his boots.

"I just called you by M- Your birth name." He corrected himself, as he knew of her bizarre sensitivity.

"You still don't get it. You didn't just call me by that . . . awful word. You insulted my very core! You completely erased and stomped on my progress  _as a human being!"_ Lady then realized it as she said it.

She eyed him with a sense of recognition, finally.

"That's it, isn't it? You lost whatever humanity you had on that island."

He scoffed at her proposal.

"Don't be absurd."

"It's not absurd. You talk like you don't have a soul! You treat me like garbage! If you lost your human side, all that remains is a demon."

"And what is your point, little girl?" He chided her.

"You are, reluctantly, my enemy." She was dead serious.

The man's eye's flared widely, and both his fists clenched.  
The callous grin he'd built melted into a scowl.

An indigo aura arose from him.

"You whore, what do you know!? Shut up! Just shut up for one moment and listen to what  _I_  want to say!"

Lady rolls her eyes and gave a condescending chuckle.

"It's all about you isn't it? You selfish bastard!"

She insulted his humanity.

An odd angle. He'd never been questioned on this front, and it felt . . . This wasn't something he'd ever experienced before.  
His temper flared, rage becoming an overwhelming feeling.

. . . No.

No, she wouldn't disrespect him so, not anymore.

"Enough talk! You insipid  _bitch_ , how dare you!" He snarled through gritted teeth. He became aggressive in his stance, looking like he was ready to pounce.

Lady drew her twin guns and aimed at him.

"I couldn't agree more, demon. Fight me. Right here; right now."

Vergil couldn't help the smirk that crept in his face. Were those little things a joke? Nothing of the mortal plane could harm him.  
A perfect chance to see what she's capable of, despite this limitation.

"You want to play,  _Mary_? Fine, I accept." He derided her name even more than he'd ever done before.

Her own anger flared and the corners of her lips winced.

Strangely, she didn't fire. Instead, she holstered the weapons and turned around.

Lady had a winning look in her eyes as she went out of the door and waited outside for him. She started checking her guns one last time to make sure. This fight will count.  
She didn't even really understand why they were fighting, but she knew she had to.  
It was for her own self-respect. Lowering the magazines in a quick motion, everything seemed to be in tip-top condition.

Her finger tightened around the triggers and the barrel turned around as Lady spun.

A gloved hand wrenched the pistol out of shape.

She flinched out of reflex. Lady knew the man was fast, but was he ever this quick before?

"Dante . . . " She muttered.

Like a damn rookie, the woman used her left fist to punch his grip off.

He let go ahead of time, letting her sail awkwardly past her own weapon.  
Vergil grabbed her exposed wrist and tugged her forward, thrashing her to the floor. She rolled and drew another gun, aiming and firing as she stabilized into a slide.  
He kept hiking towards her, never changing pace; zipping to the left, then the right each time she adjusted her aim.

The man never broke stride, appearing to casually teleport from side to side.

Then, he disappeared in a red shift, and rematerialized above her. His foot came down on the firearm, crushing the chamber again.

She threw both both her legs at him for a one-two combo, hitting his thigh.

It felt like a cement wall. She felt him seize her blouse roughly, picking her up off the floor with his left hand.

When they were level, she rammed her elbow down into his bicep, trying to break the hold. Luckily, her lapel ripped.  
His hand came away clutching white fabric as a new bullet rocketed into the center of his forehead. His head jerked backwards, staring at the sky as she released a frenzy of strikes.

The man just stood still, letting her pummel him as he calmly reached his hand up.

He smacked her across the face, forcing her off balance.

The man dug the cartridge out of his head and glanced at it, unimpressed.

She stumbled back a few feet, creating a gap between them as he dropped the shell. They exchanged glares, caught in a standoff.  
It was a desperate move for her, but if she could bring her sub out in time, she might be able to riddle him with slugs too fast to dodge.

Huffing and puffing, she clenched her fists, then flexed them out.

Okay . . .

She went for the weapon, trying to bring her hands back in front of her as fast as she could before he could react. She'd waited right up until he'd blinked.

Lady got off an entire clip, though only the first few shots had hit him before he chose to fix that.

They really only bruised him, failing to pierce his skin. These were his brother's clothes, and she just put a few new holes in them.  
He shifted out again, only reappearing in front of her right as the storm ceased. No time to reload. He launched into a barrage of jabs, placing her on the defensive again.

It was akin to fighting a kickboxer, often having her guard broken and her weak points exploited.  
He kept overwhelming her, delivering vicious strike after vicious strike until her nose started to bleed, and her body ached.

Lucky for them, there was no one around to see their fight.

He placed a flexed hand out to the side of her head, away from from her sight in a flash.

She looked at his gloved palm out reflex as his other fist rocketed into her jaw.  
It was so powerful that she twisted around onto her knees.

He got annoyed by her physical resilience. Anyone else, and their jaw would have ripped off.

She was dazed nonetheless, and so he gave an extra kick to her back.

Lady launched forward on her chest, sliding on the ground a few feet. The entirety of her front garnered scrapes and bruises.  
She stopped eventually, and lifted herself onto her back, hurting.

Lady stayed on the ground, embarrassed and confused. She couldn't bare to look at him now.

Vergil watched the young woman trembling to stand.  
Her pride won't allow her to show hurt to him, the one who won.

Too bad he had to hurt her like this just to witness it.

That bitterness in her eyes was like his. In that way, they were actually quite similar.

Wait.

Was this a sense of empathy for her?

She's insolent, she deserves it.

Contradicting emotions churned in his mind. Patty's words rung true to him.  
They played over and over in a tape loop.

How selfish of him.

"I must say, I'm impressed." He said. Getting her attention. Lady's eyes met his for a moment.

"Why, that I tore up your favorite douchey coat? Spare me your arrogance." She was resigned to defeat.

It always worked like that for them, despite her confidence and skill.  
Dante  _always_  beat her, no matter how many years she could use training.

Vergil felt anger boil within him, but he knew better than to lose it and do something worse.

"And you should realize it and accept the truth. What is a vulnerability to you sounds to me like truth, and feels like courage. Truth and courage aren't always comfortable, but they're never weakness." Mary will never find anyone who realizes this truth more than himself.

It's ironic, and so painful to admit it.

"I know your attitude. I know your reaction. You're scared, you wouldn't react so apish otherwise." Comparing her to a simian was just a step too far.

She glared back up at him.

He knelt down in front of the woman and placed his hand over her temple. She batted away his hand, and he just gave her a stern look.  
Rebellious to the end.

So he came in closer, intent on holding his hand to her head, whether she wished him to or not.

"Damn it, you're like a child-"

Thats when she took another gun and thrust the barrel in his mouth mid-syllable.  
She clasped her hand around the back of his head tightly, pushing him into the stalk, then pulled the trigger.

It felt like a grenade going off in his throat.

Lady had used a silver gun with strange engravings on the side. That was . . . Ivory.

How'd she get that!?

The attack caught him off guard, and he suffered as the demonic weapon actually hurt him.  
For the first time since getting back, he was  _hurt_   _by something_.

He clutched his blackened lips, the back of his head smoldering on the blacktop. He belched up blood and smoke.

She stood over him, dominant now, though still injured.

"Wanna tell me about my 'weakness' now?" She asked him, sarcastic, "You should really keep an eye on your weapons cabinet."

He sputtered a broken swear through dark fluid and fractured teeth.  
A special bullet made for a special target. Demons like himself could be harmed by the weapon.

Clever girl.

She pointed and unloaded five more bullets into his body, shooting off two fingers on his left hand, and burrowing shell after shell in his chest.

She leaned in after having her fill.

"I want this to be perfectly clear. In all your moments going forward that you'll spend trying to feel superior . . . in your deepest, darkest personal reflections,  
I want you to remember the only person that ever  _beat_   _you_.  _I_ am Lady.  _I_  beat a devil.  _I'm_ still standing and . . . 'stronger than ever,' I believe you put it." She derided his logic and his beliefs.

His own defense was shattered by a dirty surprise. She put another bullet in his jugular, then tossed the gun on his bloodied chest.

"I know this won't kill you. It's not really my intentions.  
But try to remember that I could have killed you if I wanted. We're not friends anymore. Don't call me: I won't answer." She told him.

Continuing, "Don't try to find me: I won't be found. This is the end of the line. Though I suppose with that lying face you could always find a way to never be lonely."

Vergil laid there, copper filling his broken mouth and draining periodically.

His healing could fix almost anything. Almost. Infused bullets were a different deal altogether.

Lady limped over to her motorcycle. Grabbing the Kalina Ann, she hoisted it over her shoulder.

"See ya around." She declared.

She felt vindicated, but exhausted.

Turning around, it took her a few minutes to get her gear all in place on the cycle as she prepared to depart.

A sudden, sharp pain splintered through her right leg. A summoned sword broke apart and faded from reality, leaving her with a highly painful, potentially lethal wound near her femoral artery.  
She collapsed and screamed out of rage and frustration.

"AaaAAAHH- NO!" She cried, " _IT'S NOT FAIR! IT'S NOT FAIR!_  IT'S NOT- not- . . . It's not fair!" Trailing off as she grasped her wound vigorously.

Vergil had called upon his dark half for assistance, but the injuries made transforming painful.  
He settled for advanced regeneration instead.

Dante's pistols always hurt the worst, and it was partially for that reason that he despised guns, apart from considering them dishonorable.

The man retained the first shot that ricocheted out his cheek, and the second directly in his throat, possessing blackened, blood-stained skin on the left side of his neck where a giant wound remained.  
His eyes burned red, reflecting ambient light into the darkness.  
They were so serious, feeling like the eyes of an archfiend. This devil was wounded.

He walked over and sat beside her.

She kept screaming to the sky and to him.

Vergil sat silent, appearing to zone out into his own thoughts.  
Lady kept her wound as pressured as possible, but she knew she'd probably die here.

Then Vergil spoke.

His voice was crooked and broken, still damaged and shredded.

"Crushed and broken next to a bleeding out pin-up model. Yes . . . the height of my week. At least my garb's been restored." He rasped, noticing the preservation of Dante's clothes.

She punched his shoulder, and once again felt like hitting a truck tire.

"You asshole! Why!?" She lashed out at him, "What the hell happened to you!?"

"More like what hasn't happened, dear." He said, sighing. Even his sighs sounded sickly, "This fight is, and was always destined to be pointless."

She ground her teeth, feeling that if she would die, she'd take him with her.

"You killed me, first emotionally, now physically." She told him.

He ignored her comment, instead looking back at her sadly.  
It was the first emotion she got from him in a while.

"You won't die. You're too strong." He said, catching her off guard.

Something really somber lingered in his gaze.

". . . What?"

"I don't think I'll forgive you for that gunshot, but it pales in comparison to the things I've done . . . If you think I've lost my humanity, you'd be wrong.  _Dead wrong_. But I've definitely suppressed it."

She was shocked at his opening up to her. What other things was he referencing?

"It was always easier for me not to think about it. If I had enough strength, I wouldn't be weak like others. I grew to feel my humanity was a weakness." He looked at her.

A mixture of anger, resentment, and acceptance was on his face.

"I thought you-. . ." She trailed off.

"For the longest time, I was under his control. I couldn't break away from it, I was just a walking prisoner. And in all that time I always thought back on my family, seeking them for strength."

His eyes grew sad and cold.

"So that's why I feel the way I do. Beneath my father's power, I buried the humanity because I didn't want to feel this way anymore."

She coughed. The blood loss was starting to get to her.

"I-I . . . I thought-"

Just as before, the man reached for her temple, and oddly enough, she let him do so this time.  
He rested it calmly against a wound on the left side of her forehead.

The Cambion closed his eyes and started chanting, using what he learned to heal wounds.

Lady felt like cold water ran from her brain to the rest of her body.

Slowly but surely, she felt her body relax and her knotted muscles heal.

The last to go was the pain in her hip.

Lady just stared at him speechless. She couldn't find the proper words to tell to him.  
'Dante' has changed alright, having become something of a gentleman, or so she guessed.

Was there . . . something else that got to him on that island?

"All this time, I thought you and I were different enough that my pain was my own." She replied, "But you've felt this way haven't you?"

Against her better judgment, she allowed him to touch her waist and help her stand up.

Instead of answering her, he returned to their direct situation.

"You cooled off yet?" He asked grimly.

"I think so, are you gonna be okay?" She reluctantly complied with his desire not to talk further, noting his retention of the wound and the impact on his vocal chords.

Holding the wound, he stared back up at her.

Deadpan, he retorted, "Oh yeah, I'm fine."

His voice was thin, barely there at all. It had become this horrible, raspy death grunt.

"Are you sure?" She said, feeling regret weigh heavy on her back.

"Oh nothing, it's no problem Lady."

The man sounded just like a decayed corpse trying to suddenly speak after fifteen years . . . or her idea of what that would sound like.  
In fact, he sounded like a haggard black metal singer.

The exact sound could be described vaguely as gravel and shards of metal being shoved into a blender, and then hitting frappe.

It pained him so badly to speak.

Surprise wrote itself across her face.

"Did you just call me Lady?" She wondered out loud.

Awkward silence fell between the two.  
Neither of them had a word to speak.

He let go of her, feeling close contact would embarrass her. He couldn't count on himself not to seek revenge anyway.

Annoying or not, she earned that right.

"I don't understand you, half-breed." Was the only statement she was able to say for the moment.

"So what? It's not fair? You expect me to breakdown and cry. I'm not- I don't operate that way.  
You  _want_  me to speak about how much the demons traumatized me? I'd rather just respect your choice to run." Vergil questioned her pessimistically, then returned to silence.

His eyes focused on the devil huntress.

She huffed a long, exhausted sigh of indignation.

"Look, I need the change, I need the positivity in my life. Dwelling in the past only hinders you from moving forward." She said to him.

Vergil watched the shift in her eyes, the tremble in her voice.  
Indeed she showed a fine strength against him, even if she failed to truly hurt him. Who would've thought Arkham's spawn had this quality in her?

No damsel in distress was she.

"I find you strange too, witch. But I guess I understand your reasoning." He replied.

"Okay, what the hell is it with you and conversation these days? Witch? Seriously?" She wouldn't tolerate his rudeness any further.

"You do have witches blood though, that was not an insult." He said, pretending he didn't know. She hissed a dark stare at him, "Right- Whatever it's your choice."

He felt the genuine need to tell her so, then continued, "My head's not right. Hasn't been for a while."

"I could tell." She said.

Well that was a bit impolite herself.

So he switched gears again.

"Tell me, why are you so agitated with the mere mention of your past? That sounds, to me, like running away." She gave him an evil eye, so he added, "I'm not one to be frightened."

Tensions heated back up.

"Nonetheless, it's over. I won't mention it again." He relented, decidedly avoiding any more combat, and cooler heads prevailed.

Lady's face was riddled with questions and she wasn't sure which one she should start with.  
Her angered face had been softened within seconds.

However her tongue spoke involuntarily with one sentence.

"Thank you." It was a faint of a whisper. His ears twitched up at them.

He wanted to say 'you're welcome.'  
At least give her some kind of levity after giving her a hard time.

The moment was cut short when he heard it again.

A venomous laughter. He perfected his stance and his eyes observed the place around them.

"Where's that coming from?" She asked him, knowing of his better hearing.

He struck back a look of shock

"You heard that?" Vergil said.

"Y-Yeah. It sounds familiar for some reason."

"It's- . . . It is your father." He said, dropping all attempts to hide his speech.

He immediately seized her wrist and had her come with him to the front of the store.

"That's- No. No,  _no no no,_  you did _not_  just say that!" She retorted, despite being dragged.

"Go inside." He ordered, and though she was very reluctant, she complied.

He closed the door, and said to her, "If we lose it, it might not come for you."

She couldn't follow his logic all that well.  
Her father was an 'it' now? How does that work?

How did he even know?

. . . Had he met him recently? That brought all sorts of other troubling thoughts she'd finally lost track of.

Lady followed anyway and once her shoes touched the floor inside, he slammed the door shut. Dante stood in front of the window watching the night.

He hurried her into the bedroom and motioned for her to get inside the sliding-door closet.

Lady heaved a long shudder and stared back at him. No reason really . . . At least thats what she convinced herself. However deep down her heart was sensing something new.  
For the sloppy friend who bloomed into a well spoken man, she despised the arrogance. As much as it pains her to admit it, she kind of liked the new guy.

The old Dante was a slob, and if they'd had this falling out, he probably wouldn't have been so nice to heal her.

Then again, a lot of things would be different if he'd never gone to that island.

He successfully got her into the tiny compartment, then shut the door.

"Are you serious!?" She yelled after a minute of hearing him ruffle around.

He opened the door to talk.

"What? What's wrong?" He said.

"I'm supposed to help you out! That's how it  _always_  works. Before you went to that island and after!" She angrily told him.

He responded as Dante.

"Huh. Guess this'll be an exception then." He said, sliding the door shut.

She banged on the door loudly, so he opened it again.

"What now?" He said.

"I'm fighting him with you!" She yelled in his face.

"No . . . No you won't. He's different than before, you don't want any part of him, trust me."

His response frustrated her to no end.

"Well, I won't spend my time in here! You need help! Especially since you stopped using your normal weapons. Bit of a dumb move by the way." She commented as his wound unexpectedly twitched.

It splurged congealed blood out onto the door at excruciating cost.

He almost vomited, making the motion and the face, but it was just a dry heave, followed by unbearable coughing.

"Yeah, thanks for reminding me." He croaked as he grabbed the side of his neck, "Nice move. Beautifully done."

Vergil's sarcasm could be just as gold as Dante's when he felt like it.  
His voice still sounded awful, like he swallowed a knife and about 3 tons of cigarette ash.

He heard shifting feet and claws outside and looked to the side, towards the bedroom window.

"Don't worry about those old things. I'm going to break out a new classic." He said shutting the door again.

She just sat back against the wall in silence. Another minute passed by.

"Tch . . ." She exhaled.

Fine. She put a bullet or two in his throat, after all.

Vergil rummaged through the cabinet, looking for that weapon he'd placed away. It was the one thing on his mind, the one regret he'd had since leaving.  
Where did he put those infernal things anyway.

It was a small battalion, gathered out his front door, huddled in anticipation as Arkham stepped forward. There were many now.

It took some more time, but eventually he found them.

Ifrit.

It'd been a while since he used Beowulf, but these two infernal gauntlets would be useful.  
Yamato was getting a bit stale, even though it was his preferred weapon.

He slid the weapons on, and immediately felt an intense burn. They seared to his flesh, binding themselves to his very soul, warping to fit his forearms.

After a bit, the pain evaporated, and he admired the draconic design for a second before returning his attention to the sounds outside.

Travelling downstairs, he thought to himself about Dante's resolve, his fearless drive.

"Well, as you would have said, it looks like a party awaits me. Isn't that right, brother?" He muttered aloud to himself.

He banished the gauntlets in place of Yamato, choosing to use them later in the fight.

Lady came out from the closet and went to the window. She drew the blinds and slid the window open to the side.  
She drew her guns and took aim.

"No way I'm sitting back and letting you kill that bastard without me."

* * *

**To be continued**


	10. Becoming

Vergil stood in opposition to Arkham and his forces. So he'd finally arrived.

"What brings you by?" Vergil asked casually in that trademark baritone.

"Anything I cannot control, I must destroy." His former ally said, his voice uncommonly gravelly.

The dark slayer just scoffed at him, but he knew Lady was watching.

"You  _won't_  destroy me." He scowled intensely at the resurrected mammon.

The demons scattered, trying as best they could to surround him.  
His voice hadn't recovered yet, just barely managing to come out of its guttural resort.

From behind, he sensed a gaggle of flame bats.

"Make your move . . .  _Devil boy!_ " The entity shifted into Jester mid-sentence.

Vergil's mouth winced.

He flicked his thumb up, unsheathing Yamato. As it flew out, he grasped the handle and released a whirlwind of slashes.  
As the bats circled, they were chopped up, dismembering into mince meat.

An encroaching wyrm felt beheaded, it's draconic mouth sliding off its snout.

He dashed forward and tried to attack his mortal enemy.  
There was no need for the cannon fodder, this was between them.

Alas, the jester disagreed, and unleashed a shock wave that blasted the Cambion back onto the stone steps of his shop.

His durability was fairly high, but the impact cracked some of his ribs anyway.  
Quickly, the body began to heal almost instantly, snapping them back into place.  
All the minions leapt at him.

Vergil shot through the air from his position, and sliced clean on out of three Sargasso's.

The floating skulls withered on the vine, fading out.

He traveled in an arc, flying like an eagle until his boots crashed into the sack an Arachnid-type demon called a Kyklops.  
It floundered up as it's sack then split open directly in two.  
It was Vergil's trademark handiwork alright, the slice a completely dead-on, perfect line.

Miniature versions of the insect spewed forth and scuttled around.

The man stomped on one of them and felt a wave of pain travel up to his neck.  
Really? Even stomping had a bad effect on the wounds in his throat and it gave him forced pause.

As he stumbled, two malformed grim reapers tried to rush him with their scythes.

Deja Vu . . .

A missile whipped past his head, and the two were consumed in a spectral orange fireball.

Lady.

Her Father looked up and smiled at her, that unmistakable jester bringing back all sorts of horrible thoughts.

Arkham began to move forward.  
A katana met is throat.

"Take another step forward: I take your head." Jester initially looked perturbed, as if the piddly little fool actually stopped his plan.

The look of worry quickly bled into a knowing, disgusting face of enjoyment.

"Thanks for the tip, brainiac. But I think I'd prefer a  _female_  dance partner this time." The twisted man said.

In another instant, Vergil flew back and hit the wall.

As he fell forward, a Sin with scissors emerged out from the ground like a phantom, and impaled him through the stomach.  
Vergil gasped, and blood fell from his mouth.

Lady took aim with Ebony.

Might as well use it when you have it, right?

A bullet rocketed through it's cloak and dispelled the entity's defense.  
The slayer smiled, he unleashed a sonic slash that dismembered the creature and landed; the wound closing by itself.

But the smile quickly vanished.

He looked back at Lady scornfully, "Get out of here!"

This didn't go over well.

"No, you need my help!" She yelled back, "He's my father!"

A scarecrow wrangled behind him and flummoxed it's massive blade arm into a slash.  
Without even looking, the man flipped backward up into the air, dodging the razor that was just inches from his face.

Thrusting his right arm out, he impaled the creature through the head with a thrown Yamato.

It's sewn body burst open as demonic essence evaporated into nothing.

The blade remained, and he grasped the sword's formerly occupied handle.

It was large and curved; a typical scarecrow's blade.

He regained the Yamato in his grasp and dual-wielded the weapons as he battled a myriad of Fausts.  
They did their best, launching their red pincers at him. Occasionally, they got off a stab or a graze.

He killed so many, but they just seemed to keep coming.

Two blades were better than one though, so he was able to do well for a perfectly long stretch. But his handicap took its toll.

Every swing shot pain into his sores; every nervous pulse made his swing waver.  
He wasn't used to this pain.

It was almost too much.

At least, for the most part, they were unable to touch him . . . at first.

He unleashed a torrential rain of light prisms that exploded into bursts of sword gashes on contact.  
But there was just too many, they swarmed and bloodied him, his body running low on energy and his reflexes reflecting this lack of stamina.

Eventually, he collapsed onto the ground, the dual blades proving to be a bit of a cumbersome tactic.

Though he'd thinned the herd, those that remained were still many.

It wasn't looking good for him.

On his knees, he felt three punctures into his left arm, and the scarecrow blade hit the floor. Freed from his grasp.

He fell forward, but used his right hand for balance, the stabs retracting out of his veins.  
The rush pulled him forward.  
His tendons twitched and he barked in pain.

The pavement became littered with flecks and pools of his human half, the blood refusing to crystalize.

Lord knows he didn't want it to end right there.  
But this had to be the end, there couldn't be a way forward.  
The beasts were closing in, he couldn't escape.

He was  _hated_.

A salvo of rockets came to his aid, destroying the creatures physical forms partially.

Reacting swiftly, the Dark Slayer unleashed a flurry of twisting slashes that finished them off, using seemingly the last of his strength.

He then turned back to the window to Lady.

"I told you,  _get_   _OUT OF HERE!_ " He screamed, a beastly undertone beneath his wrecked voice.

She didn't even say anything, instead repeatedly opening fire on her father and those around him.

She had Uzi's now.

That stupid huntress will get herself killed.

"Why are you still here!? I told you to save  _yourself_!" He bellowed, but she once again refused, this time responding.

"He's  _my_  problem!" She retorted, "I told you once, I'm here to stay."

She realized somewhere along the lines that she could just speak normally, and he'd hear her.  
Perks of being part devil, she supposed.

'Damn it! Stubborn . . .' He thought to himself.

Though not in a good position, he still had something yet untapped.  
It pained him to do so, but he began to call on his other half.

Those pesky throat shots were making him pay a few more dues than he should have.

While it was easier than last time, he still couldn't bring himself to trigger.

It was just too painful.

The brutish, burning pain in his gullet felt like nothing in this world.

Even so, the rest of his wounds healed up quite nicely, yet the throat remained porous.

Summoning that energy left him a bit tired, and he fell to one knee.  
Jester strolled up to the man.

"You're looking a little sketchy there!" He said, his face plastered with glee.

Vergil scoffed.

"That's not even a pun." The slayer responded.

"Ah well, whats another hole in the head?" Jester asked, then burst into a fit of laughter.

That one went too far for Vergil's taste.  
He scowled at the ground, the laughing making it all the more horrible an experience.

The other demons began to approach, lurking for a kill.

But the clown raised his hand, exerting control over them.  
He held the monsters at bay, keeping them spectators for a bit.

"I'll tell you what. I'll let you live for a while . . . if you submit and join  _me_. It would give ya some color at least!" The fool laughed, his statements angering Vergil.

" . . . What!?" He said in disbelief.

Jester stopped laughing.

He looked at the man and stood still, having done a little Harlequins dance in celebration.

The look was sincerely disturbed, made all the more soul piercing by the complete darkness surrounding those purple irises.

The demented stare made Vergil uncomfortable, as the buffoon twisted his head to the side, mouth gaping open, as if waiting for prey.  
He took a few steps towards the man, rapidly dodging bullets from Lady with ease.

He never broke stride.

Running his red, inch-long nails against Vergil's chin, he looked him straight in the eye, that long nose coming troublingly close.

It looked like an eagle's beak strapped to the front of a plastic surgery addict.

"You heard me, think about it. You've gotta come work for me,  _downstairs_ \- you'd love it! Nobody tells you when to go to bed.  
You get to eat . . . all the ice cream you want! You get to kill! All day and all night . . . Just like the sick devil you are." Jester finished, just as a bullet hit one of the two bells attached to his head garb.

The ball fell down on the ground and rolled.

Jester didn't even look as he waved his hand, mystically forcing the window and it's shutters closed. Lady herself felt a force push her away from the window, and her own pistol was sliced in half.

The man grew closer, putting that freakish snout nearer and nearer to Vergil's face.

"So kiddo, whaddya say?"

Jester smiled, his teeth just as warped as his personality.

A red-hot metal gauntlet crushed his face in, shattering that huge honker on his face.

Vergil, brandishing Ifrit, put a stop to this direction immediately with a good, old-fashioned right hook.

"I refuse." He put it simply.

The attack ended with a big burst of flame that sent the figure off his feet.

The clown went sailing, whisking through the air all the way across the lot.

He crashed into a tall, barb wired fence gate that blocked off an adjoining alleyway.  
The impact bent it out of shape as a result of his unmitigated velocity.

He flipped over from the leftover momentum, landing directly inside a dumpster.

The plastic lid broke beneath him, and he fell into the refuse.

He let out an annoyed scream and sent his minions back into action.

Placing a hand onto the cracked lid, he managed to pull himself up out of the waste, and spit out a rotten banana peel. There was a black trash bag hanging on one of his head-tails.

"A fella could  _really_  learn to  _hate that guy_." He said, maintaining his clownish persona.

The first to approach Vergil was a Blade.

The lizard lunged. Nothing a roundhouse kick to the jaw wouldn't fix. He coated it in fire and sent the creature flying.  
His boot collided with the over-grown reptile, and tore off it's jaw.

The gloves quickly underwent a reforming, molding themselves further to his forearms, becoming slimmer, more practical.

Soon, the metal dragon's mouths fit snuggly around the flaming gauntlets inside.

Chains manifested, and wrapped themselves around the outside, tightening the decorative dragon design around his arms even further.

His fists burned perennially, but they didn't hurt.

The flame was one with his fighting spirit.

And that was something he had plenty of now.

Following the metamorphosis, he zoomed forward and machine-gun-punched a Nobody's face with thirteen hits.  
The mangled nightmare squealed in it's backwards-ape fashion, and he quickly moved to the side, where he shot a knee into it's mid section.

The creature practically flew into orbit, though he leapt after the monster and summoned a second platform from shear energy.

It was a crimson rune with which he launched himself further.

Flying past the Nobody, he delivered a spiteful punch that shot the multi-limbed animal into the ground with a fiery shockwave.

Multiple creatures burned in the light, and the tar crumpled out of order, collapsing into a slight sinkhole.

On his descent, he flushed both hands down, breaking the helm of a leaping reaper that tried to avenge it's temporary compatriot.  
It's head liquefied into molten chunks of rock, and Vergil used the body to leap further in mid air.

Upon keeping himself airborne, he rolled through the sky, and lunged on a hellhound.

It did what a mutt would naturally do, trying to overpower him with a lunge, but the slayer's fist punctured it's esophagus, as he sent the attack down into it's open mouth.

The hound's body obliterated into ash around his arm, and he was grounded once more.

A scarecrow came his way, aiming it's leg-blade for his face. He ducked out of instinct and sent a punch into it's torso.  
The egde just barely cut the hairs on his head.  
Fire erupted from his palm, sending it flying into a gaggle of others of it's species.

Burning his way down, he was assaulted anew by Frost demons.

He quickly glanced over to see Jester working a summon as he wiped garbage and muck off of himself, having climbed out of the dumpster now.

"Insane humorist." He muttered.

Speeding along past another Blade, he delivered a straight punch to the Frost's gut, sending the icy fiend back, though it survived him.

As it recovered, the komodo-esque demon bit unto the gauntlet, but shattered it's teeth on the weapon.  
Retaliating, Vergil delivered a harsh slam-strike that cracked the impenetrable crest on it's head.  
He followed up with a blazing uppercut. Ending mid air, the attack released an explosion that set more enemies on fire.

The Frost began to melt and collapsed to the ground, it's defensive frost shield destroyed.

Vergil landed with his side to the weakened beast. He lifted a hand to it, and charged up a flame.  
After a moment, without even dignifying it with a stare, he released a concussive blast of inferno energy.

Engulfed by the flame, it broke apart, atom by atom.

A group of sinful reapers then appeared within his vision. They were like the ones unleashed during Temen-Ni-Gru, except they were wearing distinctive, jester-like outfits of a royal purple shade.

'Never imagined I'd see these weaklings again.' He thought to himself.

Glaring at them as his jaw set, an ancient power coursed through his veins.  
Pulling his leg to the side, Ifrit began to charge power, from his knee down to his foot.

Burning relentlessly.

Hungry for blood.

The savages growled and came forward with their scythes at the ready.

Vergil drove his foot into the face of the first one that dared to get close.  
He melted it's face with molten pressure, and his foot caved it's skull in until he pushed it's brain out, searing it out to the stem.

It died on the spot.

Right behind him, near the front door of the shop, she stood.

After taking care of a couple of demons from standing over the window, the bounty hunter had joined the fray in person.

"Damn it, Mary . . ." He grumbled. Thankfully, she didn't hear this from so far.

Lady took cover on one knee, drawing her twin, 004 Beretta's. The knurled grip felt at home in her palms, and she couldn't wait to feel that ear-shattering roar.  
She fired off both clips. The bullets snickered through the air and into the flesh of familiar demons.  
She rolled aside as her leg swept out, in an effort to catch a fiend nearby. She fired two shots upwards into it's groin and abdomen, it's scythe clattering down on the ground.

Her third shot took it in the head.

She leapt to her feet and immediately taunted.

"Make it rain."

Putting her guns close to each other on opposite sides. Shells poured down to the gravel as their occupants plowed through the demons nonstop. They fell one by one, surprisingly.  
You'd think her dad would be smart enough to summon tougher demons.

Swiftly, she released the empty magazines, ready to reload.

Lady holstered them and lifted her machine gun, her mouth twisting in anger as sheer adrenaline pumped through her muscles.

 _This_  is her job.

Once again she felt the thrill, the sense of liveliness burst through her.

'Hell yeah.'

She braced her feet with experienced control, and pulled the trigger. The powerful sub began to spray across the street, thunderously bursting out acidic rounds.  
In a satisfying purge, Lady murdered all the infernal creatures that were caught in it's range.  
Dispatching almost all the red Sins and halving the population of reapers, which crumbled almost instantaneously at the relentless hail of bullets.

A remaining Grim attacked her with it's scythe, the black robes and whiny face annoying her just as much as the smell of the thing.  
She countered with her leg, dodging the downward swing and then wrapping her thigh around it's forearm. She crunched it's joint back, snapping the arm like a twig.

Lady held unto the demon, pinning it down as best as she could.

"All yours." She called out to 'Dante.'

" . . ." He reluctantly played along, but answered with silence.

Speeding along, he brought his arm into the demon's chest for a wrestling-style tackle. The tactic worked, blowing out the entity into dust.  
Just then, a hulking troll tried to snatch her up, but the slayer defended with a weltered fist.

It's sheer size enabled it to absorb the blow well, though it was still stunned.

Vergil summoned Yamato and pulled forth it's power.

He launched an upward swing into the beast's chest, easily lacerating it's diseased skin and shooting it back off it's feet.

"Pathetic." He whispered. Focusing, he released a judgment cut in it's path.

The demon fell to pieces by the time it hit the wall.

And so he continued his attempts to convince her, banishing the weapon.

"Escape. He's not worth it. He's my problem too." His sentiment mimicked his brother's unknowingly.

He noticed the tone in her legs. All this time, he'd never really looked at her because of how he viewed her father.

No, now is not the time for that.  
The man helped her stand, but she rebuffed his statements.

"Thanks, but no thanks."

She stood and placed Kalina Ann's bayonet into the ground. The weapon started charging, almost pumping up for a moment, smoke rising from within.

The shots came thick like a blizzard, hailing over a group of hellion Lusts, hungry for her blood. The tin projectiles cut through the cold air, oblivious to their purpose.  
The Lusts were beautiful creatures, resembling the ideal woman for any northern society: busty and scantily clad.  
Only strips of dark armor covered any of their exposed top, and their lower body was completely submerged within a skin-tight layer of solidified tar.

Each one missile ripped into something, be it inanimate, or living. From them spilled tree sap, as their bodies were of the same fibers as mother nature.

There was a time that the one pulling the trigger might have felt something; remorse, guilt . . . compassion even.

Not anymore.

These creatures deserved  _no_  mercy from her.

Vergil retreated, prepping Ifrit for a new maneuver that popped into his head. The last gaggle of Lusts launched, one at a time.  
It was sad for him to destroy something so darkly perfect, as by comparison to human women, at least these brand of succubi were able to provide him with a certain psychological comfort.

They also made for good company on long, lonelier nights, when Mundus permitted his forces reprieve . . .

Though rare, the old Lord occasionally knew how to keep the loyalty of others, outside of fear and brute strength.

He crouched low, then drew his gauntlet back in a horizontal line, sinking it all the way for a full throttle swing.  
Throwing his fist out, his whole body moved forward in a red shift.  
The operation took the creature apart, his knuckles stopping the body dead.

All it's back burst outward a mix of blood and organs.

The entirety of it's nervous system tore itself apart, flying out and draping over the ground.

He felt his shoulder graze a scythe, but he ignored the tiny sting of pain. He brought his fists together and exhaled.

Eyes glowed a malevolent vermillion.

"My power shall grow absolute." His voice echoed.

Three newly arrived Frost's entered the fray, their powerful cryokinetic aura proving a match for his spiritual flame.  
They all teleported away, moving faster than Lady could perceive as she exhaled out her pent up nerves.

She quickly got up to aim, taking out a few more encroaching monsters.

The foursome had really seemed to disappear.

Out of nowhere, they rematerialized on the surface of a building, colliding in a spectacle of hellfire and permafrost.  
The explosions between them were almost as amazing as how they'd just completely disregarded the meaning of gravity.

They were fighting high up on the side of the structure.

It was the tallest building in the area, an apartment complex by the look of it.

She opened fire, trying to kill anything, but they soon disappeared yet again, leaving behind frozen flames and char marks.

Odd.

It was like playing the waiting game.

She killed any others that approached, often finding it difficult to concentrate on whatever it was when the party would randomly reappear, often with neither dominating the other.

Eventually, as Jester continued to summon more monsters, she was forced onto the defensive.

No more Dante to rely on anymore, he was preoccupied with his elemental counterparts.  
Those new gauntlets were certainly spiffy.

Undoubtedly a new aspect he'd taken from his experiences on the island.

It reminded her of Beowulf, strangely.

As she protected herself with the Kalina Ann once more, they zipped back into being, Vergil finally being overwhelmed as ichor surged from his reinstated neck wound.  
One of them got off a lucky shot with a projectile ice shard.  
His legs buckled and he fell to the floor, coughing and rasping, the spike melting but still lodged in his neck.

"Damn it!" He growled, not even resembling a human.

Now it  _really_  looked bad.

Together, the unholy trinity combined their powers and overcame him, covering him in blasts of glacial vigor.  
The cold showered over him, suppressing the spark of the Devil Arms.

In time, he too felt himself become slowed and stiffened, until he was surrounded in a strange, crystal like substance that was clear as frosty glass.

Vergil was stuck, frozen solid inside ice.

Lady let out a gasp of shock as the trio worked their magic, leaving her truly alone in this fight against Jester's somewhat-rejuvenated forces.

Where did he learn to do that anyway?

Arkham was certainly powerful before, but this was beyond him, beyond the ability of humans.

She had to think.

Could she blow him out of it with a missile? No, he'd probably shatter.

Shit!

Dante was essentially beyond saving.  
Was this really how it ended for him?

Dad zipped over, remaining in his comical outfit.

"Well! Hello there toots, haven't seen you in a while!" He was so jovial it hurt.

She raised her launcher at him but he overpowered her, just like old times.  
The fool twisted her around and put an elbow into her back, sending her into the ground.

" _Really?_  You think I'd fall for that old trick again? Fool me once, shame on you! Fool me twice . . . Er-  _still_  shame on you!"

She didn't find him funny.

"Once a bastard, always a bastard." She responded pointing a pistol at him.

"Oh-ho! Cute! I missed this little game of ours. But how about this? You put that gun away . . . and give daddy a kiss?" His face got that demented glare back, eyeing up her body.

His tongue slithered out, licking his razor-thin lips.

Oh god.

He wasn't serious was he?  
 _There's just no way . . ._

"You're disgusting! I would rather kill myself!" She said, harshly rejecting the notion.

"Hehe, come now Mary, either way, incest is a game the family can play." He retained that sick look, making her realize, to her horror, that he wouldn't care if she was alive or dead.

He laughed at his little rhyme, dancing.

"N-No! You sick monster!" She howled at him, refusing to even acknowledge that he was her father.

"That's right, kiddie! Daddy's home . . ." His grin turned the most sinister it'd ever gone.

He would get what he wanted any way he desired.  
It was just a matter of what shape that body was in, really.

As he took a step forward, and she shot off as many rounds as she could.

He flashed over, grabbing her by the throat and throwing her up against the wall of the shop.

"You have matured into an even finer woman than your dear mother, Mary." And Arkham was back, the clown receded, whispering, "You'll make a excellent ritual."

He ran two fingers up her thigh as he kept her head pressed against the wall.

She screamed for anyone.

Then, they both heard a sinister growl.

It was that of a beast's, raging far above their level as the street lamps vibrated and the ground began to tremble.

In one moment, a sudden burst of pulverized ice exploded out, tearing through numerous demons, save for Arkham, who shielded himself, and by extension, Mary.

The Frost's were unharmed by there own element.

There stood a blistering being, in place of Vergil.

Driven by vengeance, his skin was basaltic, horns coiled back over his skull from his forehead, and his body was accentuated with golden armor.  
In place of a normal set of facial features was a solitary eye; the dragon's eye, from Ifrit's outer-shell.

Much like his brother, Vergil tapped into the weapon's  _true_  power, breaking beyond his previous limit.

Arkham simply stared.

"That's a problem." He commented.

Motioning lightly with his fingers, all remaining devils lunged.

They all died to his fists.

In a hailstorm of sulfuric wrath, Vergil slew the lot, unleashing meteors of his own life force.  
Happiness slowly found it's way to him.  
The thrill of it: this new power was just what he needed.

On the outside, the eye that graced his face blinked once, as he raised his left hand and sent pure, scarlet versions of his summoned swords their way.

Unleashing a psychokinetic field of them, he impaled every living demon, eradicating everything but Arkham and Lady.

Nothing was spared, and he stood there at the epicenter of the carnage, completely emotionless.

Tranquil, even.

The pure rage in his attacks and the burned nature of his new form intrigued his old ally, who watched inquisitively as he systematically destroyed all those in his dominion.  
When the purge was complete, the dust cleared, and he scanned for the source.

The Bald man finally appeared in front of him.

"Scum.  _Die_  . . ." A drastically different, indescribable voice rung out. It sent chills down Lady's spine, and he charged toward the object of his recent obsession.

He had once timed himself at six strikes per second using Beowulf.

Even though Ifrit was a slower beast, at that moment, it felt faster and more satisfying to him.

Surging with the fury of Sparda, he pounced. A double palm heel blow to both of Arkham's cheeks ripped downward along the skin and collapsed onto his throat;  
stepping under and into his instep, Vergil shot an elbow upward into his abdomen, past his flailing arms, taking his center;  
transitioning into a palm heel strike to the groin that popped something like a bubble;  
and back into a rising elbow to the underside of his chin, scraping off flesh;  
arcing down into another palm heel onto the bridge of his nose.

The victim had bitten his tongue in half on that last one, completely and utterly dismantled.

There were no wind ups, no wasted motion. Each movement was designed to roll naturally into the next.

The opponent's body jerked from one direction to the other, in rhythm to the opposite lines of each attack.  
Blood spattered from his nose, and his whole face warped and crumbled. A mystic fire burned his throat ever so slowly.

"Every little thing that you've ever done to me, to her . . . you're feeling now." Vergil snarled, looking down on the destroyed man, "What brought you here?"

He was sociopathic; disturbingly calm.  
It didn't bother him to hurt this man, not at all.

In fact, it felt good to get this aggression out of him. He'd been repressing it in Patty's midst.

Arkham trembled like a meek flower in the wind.

As if he were a windup doll, he suddenly brought himself up on his knees.

There was a sickly crunch when he did so. Every bone was broken.

"You never cease to amuse me, blue one.  _Still_ , you can't realize it, can you?" Arkham chuckled.

Continuing, the hideous man boasted.

"After all these years . . . 'You took a great trouncing Vergil.'" The man recalled his other voice, and a quote from long before.

"You've let revenge cloud your vision so easily. To the point your own mind can't see what's right in front of you." He continued.

Vergil froze, confused by his words.

He knew Arkham would never say anything unless there was a meaning behind it.  
See what? What was it he couldn't realize this time?

"The hour is near when the Lost son shall come forth, And the Red soul will ride out from the North. But dark is the path appointed for thee . . ."  
Arkham blurted, half laughing.

He began to shift into his alter ego.

A line of light split the air behind them.

It was enormous, almost filling the whole field. It rotated upon itself, and traveled high up in the atmosphere.

Vergil was caught partially in the column and felt a change.

"You scumbag!" Lady screamed, charging at him.

In the midst of her stampede, she felt a strong palm clench her head, coming from some supra cosmic plane almost.  
Her eyes saw colors, and she felt her body slam into the pavement roughly.

She moaned in pain, her guns were lost from her hands.

Vergil remained still, fog clouding his eyes.

He tried to do something, anything at all.

He tried to help her stand up.

But . . . every breath had encouraged him to take Yamato out and slit his own throat.

He suspected this was  _his own_  madness: the terror that releasing his power would cause him.

Jester looked down at her with his usual, manic grin.

"Time to sleep, my darling daughter! You'll finally be reunited with your mother . . . After  _I_  have what I want, of course."

Vergil snapped out his Devil Trigger, the urge relinquishing him back to reality.  
As he came out of his stupor, his sight took hold of Arkham.

Lady gritted her teeth, and, without much thought, she slid forward and swept her leg around, catching the man off guard.

Her powerful leg ceased his balance, and he clumsily toppled back.

Vergil, resolved, came forward and slammed his foot down on the sadistic man's chest.

They could hear his ribs re-break.

"Time-. . . Time to get some answers from you." He spoke coldly, a bit exhausted.

However, within seconds, the manipulator's body started bloating until it exploded into colored, silly confetti.

Dead silence dominated the place.

Lady pushed herself up, breathing heavily, and she sat in an adjusted lotus position.

"Well, that was different." She panted.

Vergil stared silently, and leaned over, grasping his chest.  
His heart didn't feel completely right.

After a while, she eventually spoke up again.

"How could he come back . . . ? Why was he here?" She asked, terrified by all the implications of this encounter.

"Good . . . *inhale* questions." Vergil replied, feeling haggard and worn.

His throat wounds had gone though.

"How did you heal like that? I thought bullets from your gun made long lasting injuries on demons." She asked, eyeing him over curiously.

He sighed, banishing Ifrit in favor of Yamato again.

"I cauterized the wound using the flames." He replied, a certain cynical tone hung in the air.

"Stupid question, but that hurt, right?"

"Blindingly so. I almost fell unconscious. You're lucky I managed that at all." He replied to her statements.

At least in these post-battle throes, they could be friendly with one another, and Vergil  _did_  feel it was a nice reprieve.  
Perhaps they could become friendlier again in the near future.

"However you did that . . . Thank you." She was resplendent when kind.

He hadn't noticed that before.

In any case, he straightened up after a few minutes of lingering.

"Right. Go home. You need every ounce of rest you can get." He didn't feel like standing here anymore, what he heard had bothered him.

His guts screamed, trying to tell him that something life-changing is about to happen, but what was that?

He began to walk to the shop's doors, uncertain.

"Dante?" He stopped and looked back at her, half his face bathed in shadow.

"I-. . . Want to apologize for shooting you before. It's just what I feel-, you barely can trust anyone when it comes to this stuff." She stopped to take her breath.

What she said next, took him by complete surprise.

"And the mere thought that my own friend could . . . 'Turn' . . . Like my own father? I can't bear that. I'm sorry."

Vergil took a shaky breath, then stiffened up, as if it hadn't effected him.

"Since you apologized, fine. But I'm not your partner." He said, but decided to spare her fragile feelings.

Experience with Patty taught him wisely.

"But it's good that I can count on you in these situations. I probably would've been in serious trouble, had you not interfered." After a little bit, he mustered it up, "Th-Thank you."

She blushed a bit, and then gave a closed smile.

"You're welcome." The Lady responded, then sarcastically added, "You should know me by now."

* * *

**one hour Later**

* * *

Vergil walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hair.

"Finally, peace and quiet." He whispered, after closing the front door. It felt like forever since last time he'd been here.

He went over to the couch.  
From the moment he sat there, the coffee table nagged his mind.

The dust lay thickly, as if a volcano exploded ash all over it. It was a depressing, dirty grey.

"For the love of- Come on, Dante. You don't care about your office?" He rolled his eyes.

Speaking of the place, it was about time to do a serious change if he was going to live here for awhile. It's too much for his tastes to keep returning to such a half-empty, unprofessional office space.  
He stared at the desk, and his mind went over several thoughts of what he could do here.

"I got it." He shouted and left the couch immediately.

Time to work, just a little bit, before he could fully rest here.

He searched through the drawers, until he stumbled upon a magazine in the last one.

Skimming through the pages, in a hurry.  
Just to see if something could catch his interest.

"There." He picked up the phone from the desk receiver and dialed the number.

It still felt odd whenever he had to use newer things like phones, but he was adjusting okay.

"King's company, for the best furniture and fast delivery to your liking. How may I help you." He heard an unenthusiastic man's voice come through the other end.

He'd done this before, obviously.

"Yes. I was wondering if you can deliver my order tonight?" Vergil replied.

"Um, all right . . . Can you give me an address?" The employee questioned after some silence.

Vergil looked around. Of all the things not to be written down.

"Hold please." He set the phone down on the table and immediately got up to inspect the outside area.

After ascertaining the information, he returned quickly and told him what he wanted.

"Uh-huh, uh-huh . . . Weeeellll, Sir, it looks like you  _are_  in luck. We don't have many jobs tonight . . . But, we won't arrive to your place until, like,  _*hushed muttering*_  I don't know . . . Like, 4 hours?"  
The man was unprofessional at best.

"I can wait, I'm a patient man. I'll give a good tip if you're honest with me." He spoke calmly, almost politely threatening the man, "So let me ask you again. If I place an order,  _will you deliver tonight?_ "

He exerted a certain amount of mechanical rage in the second half of that sentence, the supernatural rime behind the words . . .

Beautiful.

They made the man suddenly step back in line.

"Uh-uhum, yes sir! S-Sooo, what'll you choose . . . ?"

After a moment of silence, he replied,

"I want the cinnamon-cherry finished desk, and the dark burgundy leather chairs. There should be two black wicker ones included for the chess coffee table. Throw in some country-shade bookcases."

". . . Nice choices!" The man responded, impressed, "Anything else?"

"Yes. I'm thinking . . . Deep indigo curtains and two copper table lamps. Huh, maybe four actually . . . How much will all of this cost?"

He could here tap noises.

"With all said and done, arooound six grand, Sir. A discount, since you ordered more than one item. Are you sure about this?" The man had become a much better employee on the spot.

"Yes." He answered, albeit hesitantly.

"Alright . . ." Some more tapping, and then, eventually, ". . . Okaaay. Aaand thank you for choosing King's, I hope you'll be comfortable with our stylish furniture."

Vergil breathed in hard and hung up the phone.

One thing is settled.

At least one.

He started to empty the content of the drawers. Papers, faded photographs, outdated case files. Jeez, Dante never got rid of the right things.

And in the middle of them all, he spotted bill papers.

Ignoring the others briefly, he zeroed in on the statements.

"Seriously Dante? A months worth of Pizza . . . A 'compensation for destroying someone's fancy car,' never seen  _that_  one verbatim before, and . . ." He stopped.

He refused to believe what his eyes were seeing.

No.

No. No, it can't be real. That can NOT be real.

This must be a twisted joke for him.

In which case, it wasn't funny at all.

"Strip club notices?"

His hands scrunched the papers.

"I- No . . . No, no, no, no- Betrayaaaal!" He yelled at no one, "Bee- _trayal_! Betrayed me!"

Of all times,  _now_  was when his voice cracked on him.

No other word came to mind.

"Betrayal! I can't- No!  **No!**  I can't believe this- That didn't just- I didn't read that!" His cold voice reaffirmed itself to it's usual tone, like he was about to murder someone.

"Good grief. For shame Dante, for shame! You're Sparda's son! Hell, aren't you  _Eva's_  son? What would mom think!? Anti-Christ! You'd lower yourself to shady clubs?"

Then again, he realized he doesn't know Dante that much.

He has no idea what happened to him, having only caught up when the two reunited again, roughly a decade ago.

He swallowed a lump in his throat and closed his eyes.

A poor attempt to hide his displeasure.

"I think I just threw up in my mouth."

He imagined the way this town's clubs would be.  
Gangly women with all kinds of disease dancing to the sound of trap music.

Sweet Black-fricking-Sabbath, the  _awful_  trap music.

He'd been to one of these a while ago, not by choice, mind you.

It'd gone over about as well as a car crash, strippers giving 'private' shows for money, just suck on men who neither looked handsome nor visited the gym.  
Then there was the drugs. People snorted cocaine  _everywhere._ Like _, all the damn time._ Out of the back, there was this guy who was selling heroin.

He left it a burnt hole in the ground.

The concept itself just grossed him out after that.

He spotted another recipient on the bill.

Morrison.

"Oh- Oh come on! You're supposed to be a legitimate business man, not a low-class pimp!" He complained.

However, he did recall his own companion.

A young raven-haired woman. No whore that's for sure.  
Actually . . . come to think of it, she reminds him a lot of Lady, barring the different colored eyes-

"No! No-no- way, not allowing myself to even go there."

So anyway, he had this woman, for a short time. It never went anywhere, a mistake he ended fast.  
He never knew what she did for a living, she always told him she worked as a legitimate dancer down at the ballrooms across town.

That was a good point, he never did question if she told him the truth.

He was just too preoccupied with his own goals at that time. Not to mention, he isn't much into relationships. He preferred loneliness, and likes the time alone with his thoughts.

Or at least he used to.

There was something about the way he and Lady operated today that had him questioning that part of himself.

"I wonder what happened to her?" He wondered aloud, "It's for the best that she never saw me again anyway."

Focusing back on the task ahead, he took the frame from the desk and placed it on the ground next to the other.  
Holding both sides, he carried the desk and went for the front door.

He placed the worktable close to the door. Who knows, maybe someone will take it and use it for something.

He returned and closed the door.

"I should call someone and put a proper lock on this thing." Glaring back at the wide office, the floor was kinda clean but . . .

Nah, still too empty, and unlikable to his eyes.

Perhaps a carpet that goes from the front door to the desk.  
Maybe another one over the sitting area.

And the lights . . . He had to do something about that. Maybe have a chandelier in the middle to give the place a much better look.

His tastes were gothic, as he viewed the gothic fiction era in America with favoritism over the common drawl of the modern author.  
Huh, the more he had this time to reflect in such a foreign environment, the more he realized certain things about himself.

Would that be normal in a human's eyes? Not many people like that era of literature.

. . . Or even literature, anymore.

Anyway, his preferences for this style was reflective on his taste in atmosphere and environment.

"Most of the money will be gone over fixing up this 'lame' place." He rolled his eyes. "Thanks a lot, brother. I don't know what were you thinking when you collected all that outstanding debt, but . . ."

His expression once again changed into confusion. Remembering what he heard from Arkham before.

What did that little poem mean?

Red soul? Lost son?

Son. . .?

Within seconds his eyes widened like dinner plates.

"That's not possible, he must be trying to play me, and nothing else. That's inconceivable."

* * *

**To be continued**


	11. Daylight Again

"Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty!"

Hide-and-go-seek was their game of the evening.  
Two days of rain with no signs of stopping meant mud, mud, and more mud. Vergil already knew where Dante were.

They always hid in the same spot.

Twins like to stick together, it seemed.

"Where could he be . . ." He muttered convincingly, as the younger twin giggled somewhere in the house. He tiptoed down the hall and peeked into their room.

"Oh well, I'll never find you! Maybe . . . here!" He shouted as he dropped to the floor and pulled the covers back.

"Err, guess not . . ." He continued searching the empty space under the bed, "How about . . . here!" Shouting again at an empty closet this time.

'He really is make me work for it this time. I never imagined he would get more creative,' He thought.

Nothing in the bath, no one in the laundry room . . .

He knew Dante was too scared to venture into the basement without him, but decided to check after he'd exhausted all other options.

Vergil noisily stamped down the stairs to announce his presence, hoping to elicit some giggles and shuffling.

"I'm going to find you!" He sang.

He stopped. Their was an uncanny silence.

With a seven-year-old, reckless brother, the only 'quiet' he ever experienced was theoretical.

"Dante! Come on, you win! I give up!" He shouted merrily.

. . . Nothing.

"You win!" he shouted with slightly more urgency.

. . . Still nothing.

"Mom's going to be  _real_  mad at us if we're late for dinner again! Come on now, it's time to go back!"

. . . Once more, nothing.

A sense of dread slowly crept upon him.

"All right, how about this!? If you come out now, I'll give you half of my personal pan pizza, okay? Enough playing." Vergil was getting angry as much as he was afraid.

A minute passed, and the panic set in.

"All right! All right Dante! Come out!  _Now!_  If you don't come out, you're going to be in trouble, I'm going to tell mom!" He shouted in his serious voice.

It was just like his voice would be in the years that followed, gravelly and deep.  
Strange that a kid could reach this already, but he wasn't an ordinary person.

"Dante Anthony Sparda, you better come out this instant!" His voice changed to the voice of a man.

Vergil suddenly heard movement above him and sprinted up the stairs.

"What on earth took you so long!?" He fussed as the kid reached the ground level, "I was starting to get wor-" He froze.

He wasn't in the old house anymore.

A giant, winged statue was hovering above him. It's voice boomed.

"Useless being," The voice that always sent a shiver down his spine.

A foot ahead of him stood his twin, his back facing him.

"Dante?" Vergil whispered.

Without much thoughts he raced forward, but every-time he got close, the distance between the two widened.  
Out of nowhere he felt hands grab his shoulders and pin him in the spot.

Flames erupted all over the place and right in front of him, the fire ate his brother ever so slowly.

"THE SAVIOR!" He heard the voice of a man scream.

"No!" He screamed, but his voice was echoey, almost lost in an unknown noise.

* * *

...

His head was filled with images. He felt sharp, alive. Suddenly his eyes shot open, vermillion.

"Another one." He mumbled.

...

* * *

**Lady's Apartment**

* * *

Lady had no Idea how long she stayed there on her concrete balcony, watching the scene unfold, down in the street. She was able to sleep for, like, an hour and a half.  
Enough to make her feel better after such battle.

However her body still hurts in places.

There wasn't a mistake of what she heard. 'You took a great trouncing Vergil.' Why would Arkham say that while facing Dante?

Unless . . .

Is it possible . . . ?

'No that's crazy? Vergil is dead. He's long gone with the tower.' Lady reaffirmed for herself in her head.

She knew this for sure, the way Dante was grieving in his own way and his happiness felt empty in his eyes.

* * *

**. . . 3 years ago . . .**

Lady laid down on the couch, sensing the cold chill in her spine. It was great weather, honestly. Dante was setting in his arm chair, legs up the desk.

He looked quiet, never cracking a joke for awhile now.

"I wonder, what kind of relationship the two of you had?" She said and immediately regretted it, "I'm sorry."

Dante sighed.

"If I had a quarter every time someone's asked, I'd be rich." He said with a grin

Lady made a face, both annoyed and happy.

"Yeah sure, whatever you say." She said.

Dante left the chair and paced slowly to the window, listening to the wind rustle by. The moon on the horizon looked cold to his eyes.

"It was for the best, I had to do it." He whispered." What choice did I have?" His voice got quiet.

He made a motion forward with his whole torso, seemingly in pain.

Lady took notice, coming to his side. She placed her hand on his shoulder, "Are you okay?"

He suddenly came back to normalcy, suppressing the pain.

"Heh, yeah, of course. It's just a side effect; price to play for the party, mind you."

**. . .**

* * *

It took her a while to catch on, though she knew the nature of his pain. She could relate very much, having lost her own family the same day.

Lady heaved a long breath. She had to relax and forget it, or else madness would surely consume her.

The huntress made up her mind to take a walk; just her, alone without weapons, and be normal for a short time.

Walking back in, she headed straight to the bedroom. Her room was a bit small and comfy, with a dark, grey-blue color to the barren walls.

A twin size bed, covered with maroon covers and dark pillows.

Lady stopped in front of the mirror of her dresser. Her reflection . . .

"Maybe I should change my look."

The expression changed into sadness. And through a blur, a crack in the middle appeared. It spider-webbed out and distorted her reflection, making it ugly and tattered.

Her face came to look as though years of sin had etched themselves into her flesh.  
Behind her, a dark shadow appeared, like that of an encroaching hand.

Lady closed her eyes tightly and grasped her arms.

'It's not real.'

Once she opened her eyes, nothing was there.  
The mirror was normal.

In a hurry she took out her black, hooded-poncho and went out for the front door.

Chatters can be heard nearby. A number of cars passing.

Lady knew the story of the witch in the stars by heart. In fact, every time she saw the cluster, she could hear the sound of her mother's voice telling her the tale when she was a kid.  
Perhaps that was why she enjoyed spending so much time outside at night. It helped her relax so much.

And she needed peace now more than ever before, now that her past came back to bite her once again.

Just the mere thought that she had to do it all over shocked her to the core.  
Only this time, she didn't know if she could rely on Dante.

* * *

"The raven haired priestess will always protect you - you are descendant from her bloodline!"

* * *

Her mother used to tell that to her quite often when they ran away from her father; not like she actually believed it, but still it comforted her after all this time.

Her mother looked like a bird with no wings.

* * *

"I'm sorry Mary, please forgive me. I didn't know . . . I never imagined he'd ever do such a thing."

* * *

But walking here under the stars, with nothing but her thoughts and the sky staring back at her, made her feel as though everything's going to be okay.

"I hope you forgave me mother. For not being able to protect you like I should've." She choked on air.

It didn't help that whenever she began to shed a tear, a slight breeze would rise from the stillness and ruffle through her hair. It felt much like her mother's hand did when comforting her.  
Yes, Lady liked to spend as much time as possible outside.  
It was the best time to listen to the crickets, hear the train passing in the distance, and it was also the best time to find the neighborhood cats roaming about the tops of the fence posts.

So much magic seemed to appear at night - it was as if the world came alive with the setting of the sun.

Her only complaint was the fact that, once her imagination began to soar, sunrise came far too fast.

Lady took a turn left and her eyes were confused at first. A blonde haired woman, not quite normal, drifted around her in a haze, almost like the form of a mist.

Lovely was her face as she spoke to Lady, and soon, the huntress followed her wispy form deep within the alley.

It felt alluring, yet knowingly wrong.

"Hey? Who are you!?"

She was compelled to ask.

Lucky Lady left one gun in her ankle just in case she had run into any trouble.

The woman's voice said, 'Come to me . . .'

She didn't know her words registered in her mind, not in the fabric of the air.

"Where did you go!?" She sharply demanded, "Why can't I see you anymore?"

Her face scrunched in anger.

"You're a demon . . . Aren't you?"

The alley elongated in her swirling head, while the time passed with imaginary tick-tock's. Silence; except the cartons and cans peacefully rattling along the smudgy ground.  
Although the noise was peaceful, it was constant: Not good for thinking.  
Dark.  _Alone._  Even the sound of her own footsteps made her skin crawl and her body shakes. A she-devil?

Certainly. Many devils brought such a sense to her sometimes. It wasn't like she was afraid of them.

Looking around, its very difficult to see out in the inky, lonely night, but she could make out a figure. Not human, she was sure.

Swiftly, she drew her beretta from her leg and aimed directly at the front.

Might as well pack something with a punch.

"You're going to die here, bitch." She said with a smirk. And the alley was lit for a second, accompanied by loud gun shot that felt like thunder in the void.

Lady sensed wind pass by her face, blindingly fast, and a bright light engulfed the area for a moment.  
Looking at her now, the woman's hair was long and her face . . . ?

She looks like the woman in the picture . . .

Dante's picture.

No.

Could it be . . . That's ridiculous! People don't just come back from the-

Right. Arkham.

Dante's mom? How is it she was in the form of a demon? The woman in front of her clearly used lightning energy as a source of power.

Lady ducked down and dodged to the side of a dumpster avoiding her attack at the last minute. The huntress gritted her teeth. So she rose up again, ready to fire.  
But the place was empty . . . No sign of the woman anywhere.

"Where did she go?" Lady asked aloud and started jogging.

Eyes sharpened for any sudden movement. It was so quiet, the water droplets on the ground making the only noise as she scurried along.

Once she reached the end and the she saw the light of the street, she just gave up and stopped.

". . . Should I tell Dante about this?"

It started to rain, and soon, her hood was soaked. She felt more isolated than ever, the crushing feeling of the downpour steadily making her more and more lonely.  
Everywhere she looked was a grey-black, often with dark blue hues and highlights.

The only other color came from traffic lights, but they weren't any help when all she saw was darkness.

All the things her mother said just weighed on her brain.

She told her once, "You think things can't get worse now, but just wait. It'll get better, it  _always_ gets better. A better day will come."

She just kept waiting. And waiting. She waited for the one; that day that never comes.  
She prayed and prayed, but the 'better day' never arrived.

That is, until she met Dante.

After the tower, she actually felt on solid ground for a while. She knew things were concrete, or so it seemed at the time.

Now it all reversed on her, leaving her cold and numb, and she hoped someone knew.

There had to be at least  _someone_  who knew deep down what she hid. Someone had to know and share a kind of understanding.  
For now, that person didn't exist to her, not anymore.

* * *

**Back To The Apartment**

* * *

She rushed back in, and began to strip down. The rain left her drenched, and so she took a hot shower.

The warmth rid her of any chill, but she still felt alone.

Walking out, rubbing herself dry with a large, white towel, she walked to the wall and turned up the heat.

She went back to the bathroom and sat down on a little, comfy stool that had a flat cushion sewn in.  
It was dark blue, with depictions of grey clouds.

She sat and let the towel fall to her waist.

The scars on her body had lessened, certainly, but there were a few new scrapes and bruises along her ribs and her forehead.

At least these were covered by clothes and hair, but she took the opportunity to treat them again.

She removed the wet gauze and replaced it with dry bandages and medical tape from the first aid kit. She thought she might have fractured a rib.

Her figure had taken a bit of a trouncing. She knew if Dante wanted to kill her, then he would have killed her.  
She knew his love of humanity was what probably kept her alive, but he'd become so ruthless.

Beneath her fringe was a small cloth that hid an abrasion. She soothed it with a warm washcloth after removing the bandage.

In the mirror, she just looked at her reflection.

It'd been a while since she actually looked at herself.

Would anyone really appreciate this? What she looked like was a hard-drinking, scarred up warrior. There was a newfound feminine quality to her though.  
She was curvier than before, and her looks had softened considerably.  
It wasn't like she planned to adopt a different diet, then suddenly her features would shift into something more attractive.

Maybe it was just a sign of maturity. It seemed slightly juvenile to take notice of, but her bosom was much larger, by all accounts.

She used to be flat like a surfboard, now she really did have a 'pin-up' look about her.

Odd how things change so subtly over . . . Gosh, was it ten years already? It'd been a while since she scaled Temen-Ni-Gru.

Her killer legs had dried now, her job was so rigorous that she didn't really need to hit the gym anymore. She slipped into a green sweater and black leggings as she waited for her normal wear to finish.  
When the dryer finished, she removed the warm clothes and folded them back into a drawer.

She surmised she was done for the night, and opened a book she'd been reading. It was  _Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus_. She'd gotten roughly more than halfway, but didn't recognize it at all.

You'd think a famous film would be completely faithful to the masterpiece-original.

Nope. The book wasn't anything like that old film.  
It didn't even feel like the same story.

Nevertheless, that experience earlier, that surreal interaction with a photograph left her completely confused.

Maybe it was worth giving Dante a call, just to let him know . . .

She got up from the old leather couch and grabbed the landline. She dialed the shop's number, knowing he'd probably be there and still awake. She eventually heard the tone, and he answered.

"Hello . . ." It trailed off.

"Oh good, I caught you. Listen, I bumped into something I think you ought to-" Then his voice interrupted.

"I'm unfortunately unavailable to take your call . . . That is all. Don't keep calling back . . .  _*muttered* How do I shut this thing off-"_ Aaaand click.

At first, she thought it was him just joking.

Then the dial tone kicked in.

"-At the tone, please record your message." It said to her.

"Are you fisting me?" She said aloud, then covered her mouth.

The tone went off a second later. Oh thank god.

"Uhm, hey, I-uh . . . I bumped into something on the street . . . You know what, I'll tell you about it tomorrow. Meet me at the cafe on 3rd." She said, deciding not to bother.

She hung up and dialed Morrison.

No answer there either. Damn.

Her face cracked once again to sadness. Lady heaved a sigh and went over to make the bed.

* * *

**Devil May Cry HQ**

* * *

Vergil twiddled his thumbs at the desk.

Sleeping sucked now.

The night was getting depressing, slowly sucking the emotion out of him. Patty felt like a distant memory to him, and the productive day was gone.

There weren't any messages from anyone important, least of all Morrison, and so he was, for the first time in years, stuck with completely free time.  
He looked around for things to do, and nothing popped up. Nothing at all even stood out to him.

The furniture came and he'd set it all up the way he wanted, the nightmares had gone as well, and now he was just sitting alone at his shop.

Dante's shop.

No matter how many times he tried to escape the feeling, it really seemed like he was still an alien, an outsider in a world he wanted to know.

But it all looked foreign to him.

Sure, he understood basic human culture, but beyond the simplicities, a few years under demonic servitude made him a little weird.

For the night, it felt like he was trapped in this prison; a little introvert looking for a purpose in a harsh world he was all too well equipped to handle.

He looked for anything, anything at all.

Then he remembered it.

Her number. Jennifer.

He scrounged about and looked for the paper, ultimately finding it in the trash. It was crumpled with some food stains. How careless of himself.

Staring at it, he saw the correct name, Jessica.

'What is wrong with my head? I didn't use to be this bad with names.' He said to himself, almost punching his own face out of frustration.

He was desperate for contact now, mostly out of being tired of the concept of loneliness itself.

How many nights could he go without some form of affection? Be it of a friendly nature or something more carnal.

He didn't care really.

Wow, imagine that; he actually shared a personality trait with Dante. Funny how that didn't bother him anywhere near as much as it would've a few years ago.

He looked inside himself, wondering if he really wanted to see this person again.

Well, as long as she didn't bring the child, he'd be fine.

So he gave her a ring.

As it dialed, he realized he hadn't thought of anything to say. Too late now.

"Hello?" She answered.

" . . ." He was afraid to say anything.

"Hello?" She was more insistent, on the verge of hanging up.

Come on, say something for once.

"D-Uh, Uhm, H-Hi. Hi Jessica." He said, as uncomfortable as he felt inside.

"Who is this?" She questioned lightly.

"Uhm, I'm-Uh, It's . . . Dante." He stumbled out.

She giggled a bit.

"Ahehehe, I thought I recognized the stammering! How are ya big guy? What's up?" She said, taking charge since she knew he was shy.

There was something so magnetic to her about him. Anyone else of course wouldn't get this far, Vergil had a unique draw to him.

"I-Uh, I was wondering if you . . . If you maybe wanted to grab something to drink, or whatever tonight." He replied, gaining a small bit of steam.

Cellphones weren't exactly his forte, and he felt so unskilled using them, especially the social aspect of it.

"What, like, right now?" She asked, a bit surprised.

"Oh, if you don't . . . You know, if you don't want to-" She cut him off.

"No! No, I think I can make that work. One of my girlfriends from Texas is visiting, I think she'd be down to watch Ryan while I'm gone." She said.

There was a quick scramble on the other end as Vergil tried not to encourage her.

"You should spend time with your friend if she's got a limited stay here." He said, all regal and controlled, yet awkward and stilted.

"Oh she's in town for a week, she just got in two days ago." The woman shot his rebuttal down.

Just perfect.

"Alright, she said yes, why don't you give me your address and i'll ride over in an hour? I'll pick you up!" She was so enthusiastic.

Immediately, he felt a wrench in his gut.

Maybe this was a mistake? He hadn't realized the implications of calling her over.

This place was decrepit and ghoulish, possessing the macabre skulls and trophies of Dante from his career.  
Despite Vergil's attempts to make it inviting, it still had this real spooky, gothic vibe at times.

He knew an ordinary woman probably wouldn't cope well in an environment like this.

And yet, his lips muttered the information she wanted.

She had a bit of an effect on him too, reciprocating a kind of magnetic reluctance.

So, the woman hung up and began riding over.

Stress shot into his spine, the nervousness of having to be around this woman again returning to his gut.

What did he just get himself into?

So . . . sixty-five horrid, painful minutes went by as he waited in silence. The vehicle eventually pulled up to his driveway, but he didn't go to the door.

He stayed frozen right in that chair.

So she got out of the truck and walked to the door. She began to knock, and rung the buzzer.

Still, he did not come to the door.

So she tried the sensible thing and just twisted the handle.

It came right open.

Damn, of all the times to forget that!

"Hi." He replied, cold and emotionless.

"Oh, was this a bad time?" She said as she walked in, modestly dressed similar to how he saw earlier.

He grumbled back at her.

"No, no."

She chuckled a bit and decided to ask him.

"Hmhm, then to what do I owe the pleasure sir?" She gave him a very, VERY familiar sarcastic grin.

If it's not his brother, then it's some tramp on the street.

"I, uh- I'm . . ." He couldn't put what he wanted into words.

So she just walked toward him and took control.

"Okay, let's try this? How about 'I was lonely here, do you want to spend some time together?'" She said, then finally noticed the grim figures on the walls.

She let out a little gasp.

"Wha-whoa! Those are some dark lookin' mementoes!" She exclaimed, trying to retain her cool as best she could.

"Oh, uh- Well, those are my brother's." It had become a really stupidly simple excuse to fall back on.

Always blame his brother.

"Oh. Is he here or-?" She left off there to let him finish.

He squirmed a bit.

"He-uhm. He died." He replied. It left her a bit deflated.

"Oh! Oh my gosh! I'm  _so_  sorry, I didn't know."

He looked at the ground. He couldn't deny it.

. . . It still hurts like hell every time he remembers

"Yeah, uh, It was- It was kind of recent; very much unexpected. I'm here tending to his affairs." It was technically true.

She understood his reserved nature much more now.

So she placed her hands on his shoulders to try to sooth him.

"Hey, do you wanna go out? Like- lets get out of here and get some fresh air." She suggested the idea so innocently.

He stood confused and torn. In this state, he was more open to suggestion than usual.

"No . . . we-. . . lets just sit here for awhile." He disagreed pessimistically.

"Okay. Alright, we can do that too."

She tried to beam a look of positivitey out at him, and he guessed he'd put on a fake face of relief.

"So, Jane."

"Jessica." She said with a laugh.

Where was his head at anyway? He kept forgetting these names more and more. These commonplace things should have been so easy.

So beneath him.

And yet, they were throwing him for a loop. He let it go for now, but maybe it was just the result of being so isolated and corrupted under Mundus.

He hated to remember anyways.

Vergil left the desk and paced to the window with her, for a better sitting place.

He looked out the window, so distant and emotionless. She looked at him and understood, so she didn't push him very far.

"You got any drinks here?" She inquired.

He nodded, pointing to a dark wood cabinet next to the bookshelf.

She grabbed them some whiskey.  
This one was fun to drink in silence, at least.

Every once in a while, she felt the urge to talk, so she tried to get him to speak up.

They'd exchange some pleasantries for a while, then the quiet would set back in.

Eventually, she just outright asked him.

"So, do you like me?" The phrase had cynicism behind it.

He looked at her for the first time.

It caught him so off guard.

" . . ." He seemed silent, and it made her feel stupid, so she just looked down at her glass, visibly disappointed.

"Yes." He finally replied.

She looked back at him surprised, a slight smile leaking out.

"Don't sound so excited," She joked, "So, what if instead of going for drinks . . . we just get closer?"

He groaned inside, because he knew just what she meant by that.

But he looked at her, and he saw something he didn't mind.

"I'm open to it." He said lowly. She smiled to herself.

His dark charisma was something he actually wished he could turn off sometimes.

Of course, Dante seemed to be able to flip it off like a switch. He didn't know why, he always felt that kind of power should be open and expressed completely.

So Vergil tended to embrace the more paranormal aspects of his soul.

"So?" She asked him for confirmation.

He looked at her, and saw a kind of legitimate mutual attraction.

Maybe it wouldn't be bad if they just got intimate.

The more he thought about it, the more he actually considered it a little bit. Really? Would he really just sleep with this person he had only just met?

He did this once before with that brief companion, when he was young.  
That didn't turn out well, as he'd already reminded himself.

But she had an allure . . .

That was it, the words that would turn off any possible desire he could have. Not to mention, it's just not like him to have one-night stands. At least for now.

"Aren't you married?"

"Single mother, babe. Remember?" She gave him a face that said ' _hello!?_ '

"Well, no. I don't feel dressed right for it." He responded with that dry wit, and it was well received.

She laughed aloud.

"Oh please, if it's just too much torture for you!" She joked back and giggled.

He felt a warm sensation in his chest. What was that?

It was like when Patty had done something he admired or something he reluctantly admitted was cute, only more intense.  
Her laugh was cute, and he couldn't help but smirk in satisfaction.

"Oh! Oh! Back off, people! I got him to smile!" She said, and continued that subdued, warm laugh. "Relax, I was just playing with you."

She kept chuckling.

After a while, it felt like 'listening' to honey.

His smirk grew into a bit of a smile, and she enjoyed the moment even more.

.

.

.

A voluptuous blonde strolled up in, looking for the man she'd been hoping to see. Who was that witchy woman who'd harassed her before?

Well, either way, she was looking for Dante.

The place was far different than she remembered, largely on account of the new, much nicer furniture and cleaner feeling.

Some of Dante's collection still remained on the wall. Some of it had burned up during their initial meeting.

She regretted destroying some of his personal history, now that she was free of Mundus's influence.

But it was still definably different than before. Something was missing, she could almost put her finger on it . . .

'The posters!' She realized.

She knew that the man's preference for women was rather overt earlier on, and she didn't recall him removing them before they left.

Sure, they'd put out the fire after convincing him she wasn't his enemy, but he showed no signs of dropping that part.

The walls were completely devoid of the same contraband Dante had openly displayed with pride.

. . . Unusual.

There was also this odd sense. It felt like Dante, but-. . . No. No, she knew whose this was.

Similar to Dante, but very different as well . . . She could tell just by the smells and the type of air. The dust was different . . . The decor . . .

Vergil . . .

Yes, that was who she sensed lived here now. He'd-. . . He'd survived . . . ?

Trish didn't know what happened, but she knew she had to find out. Where was the slayer  _she_  knew?

The new resident just left.

The blonde woman saw the back door open and another female walk out of it.

"Oh hello? Are you a client or something?"

Trish raised an eyebrow, surprised a bit.

"Where is he?"

"Dante? Talking on the phone, he'll be here after a minute." Jessica said and turned away from Trish.

Within seconds a voice broke the silence.

"What are  _you_  doing here?" That galvanizing, unmistakable voice.

Vergil came in and threw the phone upon the desk.

"What have you done?" Trish confronted him.

Vergil clenched his right fist.

He glanced at Jessica.

"Leave. Now."

"What?" She placed her hands on her hips and wanted to argue. "But what abou-?"

" _Now._ " He repeated.

His eyes? they were too cold. That's when she made up her mind to walk away. Was it really her business to know what's going on here?  
She still liked him, maybe she'd give him a call after. Either way, she respected the tension.

Once the door closed, the two were left alone.

"I thought I would never have to see a tramp like you ever again." His eyes turned bright crimson. "How dare you come to this place."

His voice deepened, turning into the unmitigated growl of a demon.

"I've dreamed about what our  _'special' reunion_  was going to be like. Lo and behold,  _you come to me!_ " He gave a psychotic glare, rage billowing from his maw.

But Trish wasn't worrying, in fact, her face had the look as if she was still in control. The situation wasn't looking that good for either party.  
She knew of Vergil's ruthlessness, but she didn't care. She wanted to know what happened.

"Where is he!? What did you do to him?" She demanded, not scared of him.

His face looked horribly pained suddenly.

"I found him, cold and alone. I didn't even get the chance to try and save him. He died  _right there_ in my hands." The strange, sad fury that coursed through every syllable put things on edge.

She stopped in her thoughts.

"Where  _were you_ , huh? Where were you when he was fighting that battle? You coward. You thief of life!" He angrily hissed.

Her face became saddened. Dante was . . . Dead?

"He . . . ? He died?" Her voice wavered.

He nodded.

She fell to her leather-bound knees, "No!"

Tears fell to the ground. She sat there in her misery, her brown jacket masking her light corset.

Minutes went by as he stood there watching her pain roll out.

Eventually, she calmed somewhat, sniffling and red-faced.

"Get up." He muttered.

"What?"

"I said: 'Get. Up.'" He was furious.

How dare she shed tears for a family that was not hers. She had no right to wear that face. He would take it back from her.

"But . . . Why? . . . Why do you hate me so much?"

"Because you're a  **fake!** " He bellowed in her face, wind rippling through her hair, " _ **You're just a corrupted**_   _ **shell!**_ _ **I buried his body and you hid away!**_ "

She was taken aback by his unbound mental state.

"I am no shell!" She yelled through tears, standing back up, albeit shaky, "I have more compassion for that man in my pinky finger than you have in any-"

Her words were cut off with a rough punch to the stomach that sent her flying out the entrance.

He stepped forward and slammed the door shut behind him.

"You. Me. Right now; the old church across town." He spat.

She staggered to her feet and glared at him.

"Why there?" She asked.

"Because I'm going to wipe you from existence in the house of god." His eyes were brutal, his teeth gritted.

A pure black aura surged from his form.

And so they went.

* * *

**The Cathedral of Saint Aamoth, the Loved**

* * *

The streets were littered with trash. Plastic bags floated by on a whim, and nearby, prostitutes sold themselves out for a new shade of cheap lipstick and some cab fair.

Some other crimes, like robberies and sexual assault were going in small banks, back-alleys, and red-light apartments.

All that bled away in Vergil's head, the focus of his anger becoming purely directed towards this new individual.

She raced along the rooftops to the big, boarded off doors.

Vergil calmly arrived in tow.

They stared at one another, linked by hate and paranoia.

"So, here we are . . ." Trish spoke sarcastically, "A bit grim of you, don't you think?"

Working under Mundus together made her wise to his tactics.

Vergil didn't speak, instead turning his head to the door.

A gust of wind picked up, and the doors blew open. The wooden planks and various guards on the barrier disintegrated.

And so the doors opened to an empty, dusty church.

Trish walked in first, blue electricity running along her black wrist accessories.  
He followed into the darkened place, the vaulted ceilings high above looming over their heads like guillotine blades.

He snapped his fingers, and a number of old candles flickered back to light.

Courtesy of Ifrit.

She generated an electric arc between her hands, holding it stable as she walked off to the right.

Vergil walked to the left, past the pews to the open space opposite Trish.

He summoned Yamato and held it up with his right hand, outstretched horizontal, the point towards her throat.  
She clenched her fists closed, dispelling the fritz. Holding her fists up, she readied her blue bolts.

"Your power is different." Vergil commented, "What's holding you together now that the lord is gone?"

She smirked at him.

"Just a little something Dante gave me as a keepsake, to keep me safe before he went off to-. . ." She trailed off at remembering.

The slayer had kept Sparda in his possession, instead offering her the Alastor as way of giving her a familiar element.  
With it, her powers were far greater, even after the master's attachment had faded away.

"Hmph, you think you actually know what strength is?" His face turned dark, "I'll let you know exactly how he felt before he died, from firsthand experience."

She threw the first attack, launching a bolt from her still position.

It hit him, but he resisted the attack, grunting as he staggered back.  
He pushed beyond the pain, stepping back forward as she flashed forward with her boot.

Her right knee crashed into his head, knocking him off-kilter as she spun into a roundhouse midair.

His head flicked to the right, then rocked back to the left as her heel came around into his cheekbone. He fell forward on one knee.

By the time she'd landed, he'd twisted around lunged for stab.

She shifted back in quick thinking, propelling herself with static electricity. He continued forward, roaring at her as he wielded Yamato like a cutlass, fencing her back in a red blur.

Trish, on the defensive, manifested electric blades that she guarded each strike with, with one for each hands.  
The darkened devil drew out more speed, attacking at an ever-increasing rate.

Finally, he cut through her defense, and began to nick at her skin.

First, he cut her cheeks, twice on both sides, then he slashed her arms and her stomach. They were tiny little gashes, but they stung nonetheless.  
Twisting the handle in his hand backwards, he issued a sonic strike to her palms in a clash. The guards protected her hands and resisted the blade's steel.

Sparks flew out on both of them, neither really caring of the pain.

She released a pulse, a shockwave pressing him backwards, then released a punch coated in current.

His body stammered as it hit his ribs, and flew back into the benches.  
She flew after him, attempting to land a followup, but he countered with a kick.

He released the hit into her diaphragm.

It was like a steel rod being thrust through her, as she coughed up blood and flew back above the empty prayers and landed on a dock above the roman organ.

On one knee, she grabbed her chest as she dodged a fireball, electrically shifting from ledge to ledge to ledge searching for solace higher up.  
Vergil released his blast and began to yell with each blast, becoming and more intense until he finally screamed.

" _Aaah!_ " He howled, and launched a burst of energy where she was going.

The inferno powered into her side, pancaking her against a wall.

"Ah!" She cried as her head smashed into the partition and she began plummeting to the ground.

He charged forward, intent on slamming her with his gauntlet covered fist. Closer and closer, they were almost together, and . . .

Vergil's weapon hit the wall. Sitting atop his concrete arm was the elusive minx, legs crossed and smugly smirking for a brief moment, before forcing both her heels into his face.

The man stumbled back as she landed down and delivered a vicious right hook.

His jaw dislocated, and he stepped back further.

Molding the electricity into a living scythe, she spun it around and sliced down. He guarded with both forearms, holding back the crackling weapon.  
A new flame flickered, and he released his arms out and away into an explosion.

The burst burned her shoulders, and she was hurled into the wall.

He stared at her, deathly serious.

"Parlor tricks. In the end, you're just as weak as that insufferable oaf of a brother. To befriend you . . . What a pathetic joke." His voice smoldered in her head, engraving their mutual dislike.

She stared back at him with a matched rage.

"Do you really love him? Could you really love someone, only to insult them in death? How could you delude yourself?" Her words cut through his chest.

He stopped in his tracks.

The comment made him appear to lose some his self-control.

"I-Ergh! You-. . . What would you know about him? You're dirt make to look like my mother! You couldn't love something because you came from  _him!_ " He screamed.

She chuckled in his face.

"I may be a creation, but I didn't choose my face. I didn't choose to manipulate Dante either." She forced herself to stand, using the wall as support.

Blood dripped from her pretty teeth.

"Ungh!" She grunted as she grabbed her stomach, "Do you even think before you act, you childish  _prick_?"

Her tone was nowhere near his mother's.

"You've no idea the emotional turmoil I put myself through to try and atone for my betrayal! I came to your brother's shop to seek forgiveness, not revenge!" She yelled at him.

He took one look in her eyes and just told her the truth.

"I don't care."

His response shocked her.

"You killed my brother. I couldn't forgive that, even if I wanted to." His voice got shaky and coarse.

Her back fell against the wall, and she slid down.

" . . ." She'd given up, "I did nothing to him. I . . . Loved him." She shed another tear.

His face was cold to the fact, looking not unlike a slab of iron.

"You . . . You're sick." He sneered, "You  _look like our mother._  He couldn't love you back, halfwit."

She didn't even react.

"Maybe so. But does that change what I feel?" Her questioned completed dozed through him, stifling any response.

He was silent for a long time, looking at her.

This isn't possible, she couldn't love Dante. If that was true, then his entire belief of her, his whole reasoning was completely and utterly, dead wrong.  
Could he handle that? Was he strong enough to handle that?

"You're lying." He said, frigid.

She looked back up at him.

"Aren't you empathic like your brother? Why don't you take a look?" She told him off, uninterested.

He searched and searched, perhaps hoping to reawaken this dormant aspect.  
Sure enough, he could feel it. The perverse nature of her feelings, perverse to him anyway.

"No. No . . . No, this isn't possible!" He shouted, "You can't- You're just-!"

In that moment, she grew angry at him again.  
That face she loved, twisted so far out of familiarity by a man she neither wanted to accept nor love.

So she blasted him in the face with her strongest bolt.

"Aaaaaaah!" He hollered out, clutching his pained countenance.

She stood and quickly dropped the jacket to the ground revealing her white, strapless top and a black choker.

Summoning it all up, she manifested Alastor in all it's draconic glory.  
She jammed the blade forward in a stinger, impaling his midsection and taking him off his feet for the very first time.  
His body contorted in a flurry of electric waves, and his back hit the floor.

"I have something to show you." She said, brazen.

He returned to Yamato, his most comfortable weapon.

As they clashed and struck desperate strikes against one another, a tempest of slashes and painful lacerations swirled around them, destroying the pews and cracking the colorful murals.

They brought their weapons together in grind and spoke to one another once more.

"You mock him with that getup!" She yelled.

"I . . . Will . . .  _Kill you!"_  He retorted, disturbed.

They separated in a red mist, both taking damage.

She knew wasn't as strong as him, her powers were straining to keep up at this point, despite the slight physical reprieve.

Each moment when she went for a move, he'd counter with a barrage of rough attacks outpacing her by a million miles.  
She summoned the electric scythe again and moved with both, managing to hold her own even longer as their combat raged.

Still, with Yamato alone, he overwhelmed her, using judgement cuts and rising stars, summoning all sorts of attacks that lit up the cathedral's innards far brighter than any candle through the place.

He thundered and battered her around, wearing her down as a sudden burst of electricity caught her eye, and she realized it was not hers.

Vergil had triggered.

Wearing a scaled, black kimono on top of his mutated body, it was his old, untrained form; the only thing he could think of under the mental duress.

The colors were different, but it was the same.

"Cut off!" He said as he sliced through a lock of her hair, then unleashed the wrath of an old Samurai with a salvo of horizontal movements. Juggling her in the air, he prepared a final, zantetsuken.

Unexpectedly, she flew high above, out of his indigo reach.

Healing her wounds in an instant, she began to blast bolts of electricity in an instant, her own, less monstrous devil trigger a result of her false physiology.

A fierce, blue field of energy emanated from her.

He continually dodged, despite several good hits on him. Zooming through the hall, he made acrobatic artwork of her aiming.  
Bouncing around the walls, his evades became more complex and harder to follow, until, eventually, he just disappeared altogether.

She stopped for a second, then successfully guarded against an helm-breaking strike.

Grounding her, they parted in a purple tear, and prepared for another clash.

Trish, armed with Alastor and the lightning scythe: Vergil and his trusty Yamato.

"Begone." Vergil told her.

He released a charge, azure strike that came downwards and diagonal.

She slashed upwards in countermand with both weapons.

He shattered the scythe into ions, and wrenched Alastor from her hands with a single stroke.  
Trish rocketed into the mural, the glass cracking open as it stopped her momentum.

Showered in shards, she crashed into the floor, broken.

He roared like an uncaged animal, preparing to kill the remnants of his captor. This would feel soooo goood . . .

She crawled to her knees, covered in cuts and bruises, and her hair and arm almost drenched in blood.  
Her nose was bleeding profusely as well, it wasn't good.

This was it. The last thing she could do.

Looking at her right hand, time seemed to slow. All her remaining strength crackled in and out of it.

Well, here goes the last stand.

She charged forward, intent on making it count, knowing he would win. He was  _always_  going to win.

The two met a final time.

Digging her fingers into the top of his head, she released it. His mind blasted off, taking him through to a different time, someplace else.

* * *

**Mallet Island**

* * *

Dante was struggling to stand, his father's power making him strong enough to be on Mundus level, but not strong enough to take all his attacks at once. The brute . . .

He held the blade, Sparda, his father's namesake aloft and irradiated strength from millennia ago.

But it wasn't enough.

"Damn it!" He shouted in frustration, Mundus towering above him, his form half-destroyed and corrupted from it's angelic stone.

"Dante!" He heard a voice.

Twisting his head to the left, he saw her . . . The one he'd spared. Trish, come to save the day this time.

"Use my power!" She said as she channeled all her golden vitality into his body. How did she get here?

It doesn't matter, he guessed.

Imbued with her strength as well as his father's, the fight raged on. She'd aided the warrior as best he could.  
It was up to him now, she could only try to find an escape for them both, and he knew this.

"Th-thank you, find a way out . . . I might not get so lucky . . ." She heard him say.

'That was last time I saw him.'

* * *

**Present**

* * *

His mind crashed down on itself, and his form cracked away slowly till he was all human again.

"N-. . . No . . . You fool." He croaked, beads of saltwater flowing down his molten cheeks, "H-How could you!? How could you throw yourself away like that!?"

He screamed.

"Aheh, now you see." She said, spitting up blood onto the ground, "I tried to save him . . . I guess it wasn't enough, huh?"

Yamato stuck out her backside, quivering in regret.

She fell forward, and he did his best to remove the blade painlessly. She couldn't feel anything at this point.

Vergil was overcome with a new feeling.

What was it? It felt like sadness, it also felt like he'd made a huge mistake.

. . . Remorse?

Remorse. He felt remorse.

It hit him like freight train, collapsing his shoulders.  
She began to fade, having taken on too much.

No, not like this.

He wouldn't let it end like this.

He called forth his power, the demonic energies of his corroded past.  
Come on, this isn't how it should end. Just this time, do something for someone else . . .

His fist tightened and from the edges of his glove came a blue energy. It pained him so much to bring it forth, a sliver of his own life; almost like he'd been shot in the throat again.

Incantations such as that of Lady's salvation wouldn't work on purely demonic creatures.

Without hesitation, he plunged the summoned orb into her stomach wound, and the light enveloped them both.  
It shined like a beacon, guiding boats through the northern seas.

Her heartbeat remained slow, and worry gripped his chest. Come on, come on!

And then, it began to speed back up.

Soon, her skin returned to being smooth, and his hopes rose again. The pain on her face disappeared, and she awoke just as the light disappeared.

In that moment, he couldn't think of anything else to do. He was so overcome with emotions he hadn't experienced before, if ever . . .

He was happy, regretful and even angry still.

He didn't know if it was through impulse or repression, but suddenly, without any rhyme or reason, they became interlocked in a kiss.  
It was surprisingly passionate . . . fun even. And for a moment, he seemed to forget who she was.

Then, he remembered.

They stopped.

He stood away from her, horrified.

"What . . . What have I done?" He said to himself, feeling disgusted.

She didn't know what to do or to say.

"I-I . . ." She stuttered, trying to find the words that would calm him.

"Quiet!" He boomed.

She acquiesced.

His mind felt broken. What was wrong with him!? How could he be so perverse? He wasn't Dante, he wasn't driven by lust, but by honor and respect!

Vergil couldn't register the brevity of mental states he had gone through in the span of only a few minutes.

He clutched his skull, and crouched to the floor.  
Mangled and stilted groans escaped him, anguished by the darkness in his heart.

Then, he grew silent.

"Vergil?" She said.

"Get out."

"Wh-?" She couldn't even finish.

He turned to her and she saw the most frightening look she'd ever experience. Her spine froze in place as she stared upon his twisted wrath.

" _ **GET OUT!**_ " He shrieked.

Raving like a lunatic, he went mad from the revelation, screaming at the top of his lungs.

She ran from his sight, escaping the building as quikcly as she could.

She heard him rage inside, very structure itself shaking like an earthquake had struck the city.

" _Rrrrrraaaaaaaaaaahhhh ergh agh!_ " There was no place to hide, there was no place to run.

Nowhere to go that he couldn't find inside that place.

It was like his mother died all over again.

" _Leave! NEVER come back!_ " It wasn't even human anymore, whatever was talking.

She accepted his demands, fleeing the area, in fact, making very quick plans to just  _leave town_. Nothing could bring him back down now, he just needed to release until he had nothing left.  
His form distorted out of control, returning to his most powerful one, the four-winged destroyer . . . The Majin.

Vergil unleashed all his aggression at once, and in a single surge, leveled this old hallowed place.

* * *

**Much Later On . . .**

* * *

From the ashes arose an old man, one who felt brazen and ragged. One who had maxed out a lifetime's worth of pain.  
The imbalance was temporary, and he felt returned to a sense of some kind of normal.

Now it was time to return.

He left this place, calmly searching for his brother's abode.

His abode.

Vergil found the office at last, still sensing the power pulse within him like fire. He needed to lie down; he needed to just sleep for a few centuries.

His felt weighed like a cinderblock, and his skeleton seemed bendy.  
The muscles and tendons were all sore.

And he felt that pain in his chest again. Trish had taken Alastor as she'd left, and he hoped he wouldn't ever see her again.

On his desk was something new. It hadn't been there before.

A white envelope.

Inside it was a coin and a letter.

It was a note from Trish.

'I'm so sorry, you didn't deserve that, Vergil. I wanted to make things right, but I just hurt you more.  
I came by to give this to Dante, but . . . I want you to have it. He would too. It's an old coin he used to carry around.  
He said he'd lost it on the island, so I found it for him. Now it goes to you. I hope it helps you grieve as much it did for me.'

Vergil didn't even have the strength to look at the coin. He slipped it in a pocket and collapsed over on the floor, slamming face first.

* * *

**Two days went by, and Vergil didn't move.**

* * *

However, the very moment he awoke, something was wrong.

There were two, plainly obvious sets of sandy footprints right in front of him.

"What is this?" He grumbled. slowly placing his hands in front of him. Lifting up, he felt rejuvenated, but tired still.

He staggered about, trying to find his way. The surroundings were still the same . . . The letter was still on the desk, and all his possessions and furniture still remained.

Following the footprints, the Cambion trekked all the way to the backyard door.

He saw where they led, and his eyes widened.

"No!?" He whispered and opened the door, the cold wind welcomed him, like an omen.

He rounded out and he couldn't help but to gasp.

Dante's grave was open.

Rebellion is gone.

His breath hitched in his throat as he knelt down to check the grave.

Nothing but dirt welcomed his vision.

"No . . . No!" He repeated again. After coming through so much, after all that he just went through.

And now? This was happening.

* * *

**To be continued. . .**

**Thank you for reading**


	12. Harvester Of Sorrow

Vergil returned to his office.

The wheels of his mind spun several logical questions, seeking to eliminate scenarios. Who could have come in while he was sleeping?  
If they were typical robbers, why was nothing else taken? Where is Dante's body? Is he. . . ?

No. Not that.

He froze, listening into every sound and echo, expecting to catch an unfamiliar noise.  
But, he heard absolutely nothing. After four minutes of disappointment, he gave up hope. How much time had passed?

Shuffling around, he found the phone, and on the crawl read the date.

Two days. . .

Three messages from Lady. . .

Well, no time for that right now.

His fingers twitched, legs barely keeping him balanced. Taking a breath, Vergil sought the bathroom.  
A poor attempt for relaxation, but it'll still help at least a small bit. He turned the faucet and washed his face.

"Who dares? Who would dare. . . ?" He repeated to himself.

Once his eyes gazed up, he could not help but to widen them, startled.

It's said the mirror reflects what you really are, an unflinching look at all your flaws. Perhaps theres some truth to that, considering what he saw.  
It was like a glimpse into a far darker universe, one where the inner thoughts are worn like flesh. For a moment, just a single second of time. . .

Nelo Angelo stared back at him.

Vergil checked his hands.

Nothing; just a plain old set of fingers and palms.

"What's happening?"

The reflection in the mirror was normal again.

Calming himself, Vergil ushered himself back to the bedroom, attempting to catch some kind of clue, any little piece of information he could to figure out what happened.  
He was halfway when he heard a loud crash that came from outside, close to the front door. The man frowned and sprinted over to the entrance, moving in a blur to the normal eye.

Right outside stood a brown-haired male with well developed muscles.

He looked startled, and so tried to turn back.

Vergil grabbed him by the collar and yanked him backwards, effortlessly trouncing the spy onto his back, skidding six feet back into the building.  
Shutting the door, his eyes burned, glowing a molten red, like break lights on a car. He tightened his fists and looked down on the man, furious.

"You speckled worm, who are you? A thief?" Vergil spoke in his chilling, pragmatic voice.

The man began to tremble as he sought for some kind of escape.  
His bones hurt, so he gave himself a shakedown, rubbing the bruises away in vain.

"W-Wait man! It ain't like that, I- I was just-!" He fumbled the words, barely able to speak a coherent sentence.

Vergil rolled his eyes, grabbing him. Hoisting the man up by the shoulders, he slammed the intruder to the wall.  
The visitor coughed up saliva onto the wood flooring, and the slayer stared into his soul.  
Apish bastard, treading on his territory, stealing his brother's corpse. . . What a sad excuse for a human.

"How many of you were hanging around? Waiting for the perfect moment to enter. . ." Vergil growled, mounting rage hidden behind his throat.

Yet, the man gave him a confused, scared look.

No more mr. nice devil; playtime was over.

"How many!?" Vergil bellowed abruptly.

His intruder squirmed, almost crying.

"Please man, I never got into your place! I just heard my ex likes you, I wanted to see what it was all about! Christ, please let me go!" The man begged, "I won't bother you again, I swear!"

Vergil stared at him for a moment, reading his body language, scrutinizing those eyes.  
He grit his teeth, and dug his fingers into the man's joints, dragging him along to the front door.

The man felt himself flying, and he landed on his chest, somersaulting forward outside in the street.

"Christ won't help you, fool. This is a place of evil; never come back!" Vergil barked and closed the door.

. . .

Lady watched the scene in surprise, what was that all about?  
She strode over and knelt down slightly to the man.

"Hey, you alright?" She asked.

But the man pulled himself up and ran away, so far beyond the blacktop and these sordid buildings.

She stopped in front of the stone steps, worried.

It'd been a while now, her messages had gone unanswered. Here she was thinking he'd be the one who was fine after. . . Arkham.

Maybe she shouldn't have come here, given their recent history. Still, Dante is her only friend.  
'Friend' being someone she used to treat poorly and pile more debt onto, but still, a friend nonetheless.

God she regretted being that way to him, she realized it just came across as mean-spirited sometimes, but Dante was an arrogant ass anyway.

He deserved it, at least at the time.

She needed him as much as he needed her.

It just came out wrong, that's all.

Lady tried to call him more than once, and he never answered back, despite being here at his office.  
What was going on with him? She exhaled one more time before her hand touched the handle.

"I know you're there, what do you want?" She heard him say.

Lady opened the door and went inside to greet him. However she stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of the place.  
A dark cherry desk that seemed almost superfluous, since there was little to no paperwork to be seen. There was one picture frame and a pen.  
Behind that sat a deep burgundy leather-desk-chair that reclined to an almost obscene angle.  
There were only two small table lamps - one near the door atop a wicker table that clashed with the rest of the room's executive motif.

The absence of overhead light casted shadows within the corners, spilling beneath the desk.

Dante faced her, sitting on his desk with his arms crossed, a sight normally welcoming, but she felt betrothed to tension instantly.

His expression was so cold, looking ridiculously hostile, even for him.

"Uh, hey. I-uh, I tried calling you the past two days, but you never answered. Are you doing okay?" She spoke in a soft, gentle voice.

Vergil raised an eyebrow at her.

"You're awfully calm. Why do you care?" He replied casually.

Lady sighed and leaned over slightly, letting him see some generous cleavage.

"Why? Because, you're my friend."

"Friend, huh? More like assistant. You take what you want from me and then leave. Typical smug human behavior." He readjusted his arms and looked at his boots.

"Where did that come from?" She questioned.

Awkward silence dominated the two for a moment.  
He didn't feel like talking, and didn't really care if she did.

Dante's missing, and he had no idea what to do to make sense of what happened.

"Look. I came here to say this." She took in a long breath, then exhaled slowly and reached out to touch his arm.

"I'm gonna say it only once, so please listen. I'm not giving up on our friendship."

His lids widened, not intensely so, but enough to look alienating. His head cocked to the side, aloof to her idea.

He looked down at her gloved hand as it touched the side of his bicep, the presence warm and strangely kind.

She spoke quietly towards him.

"I'm going to fix the cracks between us, no matter what. I-. . . I value you."

For a moment, Vergil's thoughts changed.  
She came all this way just to say this to him?

Wait a second. . .

She was saying this to Dante.

"Although, I found it particularly bizarre that you yelled at Morrison, for no good reason. . ." Her words delivered serious confusion to him.

Morrison? He hadn't yelled at Morrison.

Lady's face drooped from a riling smile to a slightly worried disappointment.

The weird look 'Dante' was giving her was sincerely confused.

"Morrison told me he offered a job to you and you screamed at him, and I quote: 'How dare you bring such a low class job to me, you mortal trash. Know your place, lest you make me punish you.'"  
Lady humorously recounted the supposed call, but he didn't seem to acknowledge this either.

"Hmph, sounds a little too formal to be me." He replied darkly.

"But-. . . Why would you do that?" She asked.

"If you're trying to make me laugh, Lady, It's not going to work." He replied a bit agitated, "Why would I refuse a job at all, then say those kinds of erudite words?"

Vergil's smoldering gaze made her laugh inside a bit.

"You've been. . . Rather over-the-top recently." She said, explaining, "It doesn't sound very far removed from how you've been talking. Pretty arrogant, if you'll 'pardon my horrible transgression.'"

Her sarcasm fell flat to his stone face. So, she sighed to herself and struck a pensive look down.

Vergil's expression broke apart. He held his forehead tightly. This isn't who he was supposed to be. This wasn't his life.

Lady's worried about Dante, not him.

What was he doing? What the hell is she talking about? He'd been sleeping for perhaps two days.

"Are you okay? Please answer." Lady stated more urgently, her voice cracking.

Vergil took a moment to feel the back of his head.

Well, it seemed screwed on.

"I'm fine." He said through a glare.

"Dante? What day is it?" Lady asked, and straightened herself.

Vergil rubbed his temples.

"Friday."

"Slow down, cowboy. Count back from fifteen."

Too drained to argue, he relented, "Fifteen, fourteen. . . Five. . . Seven. . . Shelubist. . ." He trailed off.

"Well, now I know there's something off." Lady said, now somewhat more concerned, "Can you remember anything that happened in the last two days?"

He coughed, then said, "Heh, what are you babbling about? Enough silly-talk."

"Dante, you do realize that you didn't count properly right? Not to mention you don't remember your heated convo with Morrison. What's going on?" Lady knelt over the side of the desk again, to his right.

Vergil wouldn't deny that she was a pretty woman any longer, he'd be a fool to lie to himself.  
Still, he didn't think she realized that she frequently showed him her. . . 'Assets,' whether intentional or not.

He spoke at last, breaking the silence.

"I've been robbed, I think. . ."

"What?" Lady replied, "When?"

"I'm not sure." He muttered.

Once more, he felt her hand touch his arm.

"Leave it to me." She said with a smirk, "Tracking down thieves is a specialty of mine."

Without waiting for an answer from him, she turned back and went for the front door.

Leaving him alone.

Again.

Vergil sighed, and he decided to move on his own.  
There's no point in sitting here, doing nothing.  
He could try to track down the strange smell that infiltrated his nostrils.

What was that disgusting stench anyway?

Whoever left it, they were going to regret having even been born.

The world was cruel.

He was crueler.

. . .

Dark rivers are flowing back into the past. That's how Vergil perceived the winds that slashed and cracked down through the city streets this time of year.

The wind grew cold and bitter when the sun went down. When it came to lying low, there was an option to walk around in plain sight, disguised. It did have some kind of its own merit.  
Or. . . He had done it before so many times on a daily basis, as patience was something he was proficient at, unlike Dante. . . His nose led him to the seediest bar ever, or what his conception of one was.  
For a moment he stood there stilted, a pure kind of rage threatening to emerge. His fists crackled with fury, small ions dancing around his knuckles like plasma to a star.

The gravity of the situation crushed his shoulders, and he had enough anger to negate.

An inferno of torment rumbled through his chest just as a breeze from the AC unit wistfully blew by.

His fists tightened to the point of grinding his own flesh, unsure what was more horrid.

He: The last son of Sparda entering such a disgusting place.

Some filthy bastard, an abhorrent criminal, mired in revolting human arrogance, had the nerve to enter his office and steal his brother's corpse. . . Just like that.

The bar door felt sturdy as Vergil pulled it back, the light piercing the hazy darkness to reveal the disgusting simians inside. It all had these darkened, grey walls.  
On his immediate left, there were some framed photos on the wall. The stools were of a faded maroon, the faux leather finish having several cuts and holes in them.  
The door hinges themselves needed to be oiled, the paint was chipping off of the wood entrance itself.

His eyes scrutinized the innards until he spotted one man, seated in the far left aisle of booths that were isolated from the rest of the patrons on the right.

Vergil's face crinkled into a disturbing sneer.  
His hair mostly hid his face from view.

The twilit corridor was dirty, and he could see rats scampering about. In no way were these rodents normal. Their eyes were pure blood, and when they caught a whiff of him, they screeched and skittered.

They made desperate pleas for his flesh, scampering towards his feet as if he were fetid tissue.

Vergil rolled his eyes and stomped his foot down, crushing one instantly. The rest fell in line, as Vergil didn't even need to use a weapon.  
He glared his eyes, and they macerated into strips of rodential meat that painted the floor. He shook his head and continued his casual walk past the scum.

The slayer knew who this was.

There was another decorated door with a small set of bars to peek through.

He didn't wait.

The slayer just kicked the door down. A patron touched his shoulder. A half-second later, the man's head bounced on the floor, severed.  
That was enough to get the visitor's fleeing. So, this was where he chose to send him, a dive bar not even fit for lowly scum like Charlie Sheen.

And yet, Vergil found himself in a cylinder-shaped hallway. It was quite a bit smaller and too clean for such an ugly place.

There were a number of candles scattered around. Right in front of it stood the man he had been following for a long while, with all his despicable glory.

The man trembled slightly, and for some reason, avoided looking anywhere close to him. Did the man not see him?

The weasel's lips moved, speaking into something.

"It's done, I got my share."

The man looked down at a steel blade struck through the table in front of him.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, he gazed to his right. . . Through the smoke, he appeared.  
The devil-man had veins all over his pale face, and he was grinning madly. It was that kind of glare that crushed hope.

"Ahehehe. . . Found you." Vergil mocked him with a monotone delivery; a predator had found it's prey.

The man ground his teeth and took a hold of a candle.

"I-! I knew I would run into someone like you." His voice held a tremor, yet, he immediately tossed the candle toward Vergil.

Vergil stood still as his figure phased somewhat, his arm looking like a crimson blur for all three nanoseconds.

So puny and pathetic, a candle as defense. He split in half without any effort. 'Don't make me laugh,' he thought to himself.

"You just made your last mistake." He spoke in a cacophonous malice, "I'm here for the body you stole."

He then remembered an egregious err. The one thing he should have known to avoid.  
When he'd come back, he'd chosen to leave Dante's amulet with his body, out of pure respect.

That's right; Sparda was only Force Edge now, he wondered how long it would take for them to put it together, that they needed both his amulet and the fabled blade.

And then the next step, the blood of Sparda. . . Dante. . .

The meek target spun around and darted away like a rat into a sewage drain, releasing an inky smoke that Vergil banished instantly.  
When the dust settled, the man had gone into hiding behind a number of wooden boxes scattered across the room. It literally looked like a stealth game level.  
What good is pain when it's merely the vehicle for release? What good is life when it's only the transformer for stupidity?

"You're a monster! Creatures like you left a tragedy in my home. The savior is on my side!" The man replied, moving between the boxes.

His attention was glued to the escape route, so he couldn't see how obvious his movements were.

Vergil's expression changed and the wide grin broke away from his face. Rapturous hatred arrived.

"Me, a monster. Hmm-ehehehehe. . . ! You honestly believe calling me what I am is going to stop me? I was bred this way, you insufferable trash-heap.  
You still don't understand. You've tainted my brother's grave, and so the earth demands penance. I'm going to salt it, one member of the order at a time. You're going down." He finished in a bestial growl.

The deepness in his voice projected far, rumbling through the support beams.

With a look in his eye that was unbearable to a human's, his innocence corrodes.

The slayer appeared above the man, touching the floor one second later. He grabbed the weasel by the front of his face, and so the animal trembled and cried.

"P-Please! I have kids at home, I need to be there!"

Vergil chuckled.

"Well, then they'll grow up orphans."

The man felt heat spread from the top of his head like he was combusting.  
His body started to move in reaction to the temperature.

The man scrambled, trying anything he could to get away, but Vergil's metallic fist tightened around his skull.

"No! Don't do this. . . Please!" He cried out.

Vergil lowered him down and crushed his hand closed.

A sickening fountain erupted from his exposed throat, and a gurgling sound droned on before the man went limp.

Must have been an involuntary reflex for that to happen.

The body fell back, and Vergil stared at the human mulch within his hand.  
Within an instant, a fire engulfed him, burning the remains to a crisp and cleansing the environment.

Hell, he wasn't feeling kind that day.

No one was here to keep him restrained to doing the right thing.

He took Rebellion and in a moment, he allowed the lit candles to fall to the floor.

The building began to burn, scorching into the ground as ashen pillars crumpled, crashing down in front of the door.

He'd grown tired of protecting these insufferable humans. The way he was feeling right now, they all deserved to die.  
As it came undone, the whole building was left a smoldering ruin, with red trucks pulling up just about five minutes too late.

Tormented screams had no effect on him.

The veins on his face receded as he came to his normal senses.

Did he really hate humans so much?  
Everything seemed a little hazy to him.  
Perhaps this was just like the 'Morrison incident,' as he'd begun to put it.

And yet, as he looked around, Vergil felt a sudden change of air.

Like time itself stopped.

Once he gazed up, in front of him, upon the rooftop of a building directly adjacent. . .

There stood a red-haired young man; he didn't look any older than 16.  
The boy stared at him with cute puppy eyes, like irresistible sugar cubes.

Dressed in an all-black, Japanese high school boy's uniform, the teen looked as if he'd stepped straight out of a generic anime. He had fingerless black gloves and his face was fair.

"Judas Priest, another old foe. What's the name you've given yourself, child? Oh right, Elias."

"You still remember me? I'm touched." The young man had a strangely enchanting voice, to the point no human could resist the allure.

This was a particularly hateful demon. A pied piper who would gain your trust, then rip it out without care.

But Vergil was no man, he wasn't sure any part of him was human anymore.

"How could I forget Ulmarag's bitch?" He spat at the boy, "I said it before, you should run the next time you see me."

Though overconfident, Elias' face fell into a scowl.

Vergil grumbled loudly, "You love courting Death, don't you?"

"I'm a demon, this is what I am. I hunt for food and for my own fun." The boy responded.

Elias then struck an overdramatic pose,  
"You belonged to my master once. You were meant to die there, and so let us all feast on you. Still, I suppose this is a better way to burn the remains of Sparda."

"Come and try." The slayer replied, drawing his katana.

"Is this anger why you wanted to kill your brother? Perhaps he hurt you too, so you wanted to kill him as revenge. He was always better than you." Elias commented.  
"You remember Temen-ni-gru don't you? Why, in this world, would you want to give us access, when you know we'd come after you?"

Vergil frowned.

"Mind games don't work on me." He replied.

Elias smiled and started pacing toward him, slowly. His eyes shimmered red, "Really? You were so hungry for power, you were willing to sacrifice Dante just to claim it."

Vergil felt his fingers tighten.

"That's not what happened."

"Maybe, but it feels true, doesn't it?" Elias's voice started echoing.

"I wonder what your mother's going to say when she finds out about it; I wonder what would Patty think when she finds out it was you who helped expose her to the existence of demons."

Vergil's vision slowly began to blur.

"Vergilius Sparda, how could you do this!?" A feminine voice on the verge of tears spoke into his ear. That's it.

Vergil rushed forward, despise full-frontal.  
In one move, he plunged Yamato forward in a violent tempest.

Elias danced around his barrage, but he still caught a few hits.

"There's no use! You're still the same murderer who brought chaos upon the lands." Elias mocked more, "What would Jessica think, hmm? Your little whore."

Quickly, before Elias could respond with a follow-up line, Vergil swiftly punched him in the abdomen, a rock-hard gauntlet liquifying his innards.  
He dove down with his blade and carved a large gash into Elias's left cheek, all down to his chest. He kicked-in the boy's knee, breaking the joint backwards.  
Vergil held up the boy by his shirt collar, that smug face delivering him an arrogant smile.

"Why are you helping them, the ones who stole my brother? Grave-robbing a dead man doesn't help you." Vergil interrogated the demon.

Fighting him was a bit annoying, since thanks to the incubus's powers, Vergil actually couldn't use his devil trigger.  
It made trying to assume the form painful, rather than enjoyable, suppressing the regenerative properties of the form in favor of activating universal phantom pains.  
The dark thrill replaced by a squelching agony; no thank you. So, he instead relied on other ways of destructive force.

In kind, Elias stomped upon the slayer's right foot, and a hidden blade ejected out of the tip of his shoes.

In a strange twist, the boy raised his legs and attacked in a flurry of kung fu kicks, his knee healed instantly.  
Vergil was forced to back off as the boy kept up his attack, intent on slitting the man's throat.  
Elias was so arrogant, it spurned the slayer forward to be as brutal as possible. The insidious boy got lucky and struck the left side of his hip.

The blood seeped as his crimson eyes began to glister back at his opponent.

The most the boy could do with his arms was block attacks, a brilliant strategy for a demon who never lost stamina.

"Relax, I don't want to kill you," Elias leaned back and kept his footwork frantic, "There's still more for you to see. We all want you to suffer."

Vergil smirked and shook his head.

"Kids; they're so idiotic . . ." He said aloud.

Elias became enraged, swirling his legs around for a pouncing roundhouse that failed as Vergil's face felt like a truck tire.

The boy's ribs still felt like mush, broken apart but healing steadily. It took concentration to heal his knee up like that, it hurt like hell.  
As long as he could avoid another strike to his mid, he'd be fine. The man's statements could get under his skin though, that was a problem.

Leaping away mid-attack, Elias faked out the slayer, backflipping up onto the wall and then swinging himself up onto the roof of the next-door building.

Vergil's boots pushed back through the ash on the ground, the man jumping to the rooftop after the rotten boy's dirty trick.

Elias went for a hook kick, swiping the slayer's nose with his heel as they traded blows. It didn't even dislocate as the Vergil spun with the strike and whirled around with a fiery right cross.  
The attack rocketed into the boy's face, slamming his skull out of proportion. He flew back and hit the side of the next building, falling down into the alleyway. He heard the boy crash into the sidewalk.  
The red hunter followed closely, leaping up to throw a spiteful strike downward into the ground, but the cestus hit the pavement.

The boy barely managed to get out of the way as the impact released a blast of pyrokinetic energy.

He felt a searing flame engulf his legs, and metal fingers grasped his throat.  
The flesh of his legs came apart, falling to the ground where his feet lay detached.

Blood dripped from his mouth as his burnt tendons drooped out, exposed.

As he held the mutilated teen several feet from the ground, he began to speak to him.

"You will talk. You will beg. Then, you'll have my permission to die."

"The amulets-. . . Hold the answer for them." Elias coughed, "But, you separated them, they've no idea how to put them back together on there own. At least, they believe that."

Vergil tightened his hold on the throat and brought him close to his face.

"Explain yourself you little imbecile."

Elias's bloodied face smirked back at him.

Just like, that he vanished from his grip.

Vergil remained silent in that empty place, so many thoughts going through his mind at once.

'And the Red soul will ride out from the North.'

North.

North. . .

North!

'That's Fortuna, the north city, of course! I lived there for a time; the red soul . . . Maybe!?'

It was a desperate measure for sure.

To be safe, he hightailed it back to the shop, hellbent.  
Once there, he began loading up with whatever he'd need.

Outside, Lady Awaits

The woman stood, her built legs making such lengthy tasks easier in this weather.  
She waited and waited for the man to return, but he never seemed to do so. She continued to wait in vain, so it seemed.

Around the back end, a weird set of noises arose.

She knew he hadn't come back yet, she would've seen him.

Then again, he was half a demon.

So, she made her way over and grabbed the welcome mat's edge. It hadn't been toughed in some time.  
Peeling it off the ground, she grabbed the spare key and easily opened the door. Inside, she could see a variety of different aspects that all made for a familiar scene.  
Strange though, she could swear he wasn't here. Perhaps it was just a rat in the alleyway, or gravity working it's magic on a stray piece of trash on a high surface.

Two plainly obvious sets of dusty footprints led her sight all the way to the backyard door.

"Grah!" He screamed, frustrated he wasn't able to wring more out of the boy. His expression changed to that of binding rage, and within seconds, his face growled something fierce, like a caged wolf.

A sense of frigid wind chilled him, starting to spread throughout his entire circulatory system.

He took a breath as he zoomed up the wall, lunging for the way home.  
Flying above the building's, he made sure his jumps were perfectly timed.  
It didn't matter what he was doing, just where he went.  
Once his head cleared he heard the sound of a woman startled.

"Jeez, don't do that! Can't you just use the front door?" Lady shouted, holding her chest.

He'd just appeared before her, arriving with a thud in his small backyard.  
She could see the disturbed ground, and observed that, beside the footprints were another murky pair she'd failed to notice beforehand.

Vergil didn't say anything, and simply waited for her to go on and blurt about why she came back.  
One visit was enough, was there really something else already? So soon?

"Are you okay?" Lady asked, and crossed her arms.

However receiving no answer made her worry even more.  
Nothing seems to be right with him today.

Well, 'right' as far as the last few times he'd met with her following his return.

"Well?" She said, tilting her head to the side.

"I'm fine."

"Okay. Anyways, I was able to figure out that some members of a cult called, 'The Order of the Sword' have been spotted here in town recently." She continued.

"Order . . . of the Sword." His cold voice replied.

"Yeah, they were real shifty-looking, easy to spot for the regulars in town. Word is it's a small congregation that gathers in the old Castilian castle town of Fortuna," She scoffed slightly.

"I never imagined they'd actually leave their place, pious religions like that don't just come down off mountain high into the big city.  
I hit up my underworld contact, and they said they heard the order's been seeking the perfect amulets, along with a whole host of devil arms for some reas-" Lady got cut off.

'Dante' left the room, going to his weapons cabinet.

She heard him rummage through some stuff, eventually knocking over several pieces of furniture.  
It sounded weird, and his silence made it even worse. Lady hated no communication.

"What are you doing?" She called out to him.

Something crashed, making a thunderous boom.

"Hey!" Lady ran up to see what was going on.

Vergil walked out, Force Edge in-hand, and he was wearing a tan cloak above his current outfit.  
He went by her back downstairs, and so she followed him again.

She could see the hate, the sheer hurt painted across his face.

His eyes affixed themselves to the front door.

"Where are you going, Dante?"

He touched the handle and gazed back at her.

"To Fortuna, I have unfinished business to attend to."

"Do you. . .?"

He didn't wait for her to complete her snarky statement, there wasn't any time left to waist.  
Vergil closed the door and looked up at the sky. Grim thoughts flooded his head, his hope of salvation drifting away. Now was the time for damnation, to destroy hope.  
He would bring down an ungodly destruction to Fortuna and the order, himself alone, the ultimate harvester of sorrow.

"They are going to pay for this. I'll make them suffer. Every. Last. One of them."  
.................................................................................

Thank you for reading. I know this isn't much, Sorry. I hope you liked it at least.


	13. - Hollow

 

The lazy wind pushes against the unmown grass like a child sending dandelion seeds on their way: one o'clock, two o'clock, three.  
Above the white wisps trail and the late spring sun brings a welcoming warmth that coats the man as good as caramel over a harvest apple. A weather he is too familiar with, knowing that breeze too well.

His tan cloak was flowing in the wind, the silence was troubling a little bit.

His eyes drifted around, the street's mostly empty. He'd come far, Fortuna was a distant travel from his own humble abode.  
The city was populated by old Swedish architecture and French-style country houses.

It looked entirely ripped out of some medieval fantasy, with mismatched gothic churches painting the avenues every so often.  
He did not know why this city existed so, only that it served as an optimal hideaway. He came here after his time trapped in the devil realm as a youth.  
And, as all things pertaining to fate,  _that_  was the time the demons chose to attack his family.

When they were at their most vulnerable, he was nowhere near, the stubborn bastard he was . . . Damn it. His fists clenched as this small reflection reminded him of his worst failure.

Right up-ahead stood Sparda's statue over the main cathedral.

"Your pathetic order . . . This city will burn, I will see to that." He whispered to himself, then noticed his father's famous visage, "People always worship you . . ."

A number of scarecrow-like entities emerged, swelling with insects as a black sickness overtook the sunshine for a moment.

Black magic: He could smell it's foul stench gathering around him.

Humanity's arrogance really knew no limit.

. . .

The closest one to him lunged. He responded with a savage front kick that burst open the diseased sack.

A wheeze came from behind.

Vergil flinched his wrist, moving beyond speed visible, and sliced the thing to oblivion. A snap of his fingers revealed the hidden atrocity, a split second of carnage unraveled the grisly toy.  
Another staggered forward and sliced down at his chest. The 3-prong blade came hurling from above, but he took a step forward then shifted his shoulder, and caught the bare assault by the thing's calf.  
Left open and pulpy, he dug his fingers in, cruelty grinding into the creature's soft tissue. A red look in his eyes, he rushed forward, effortlessly whirling it back around. It's face scraped against the asphalt.  
The entirety of it's body smacked the pavement, lifting up and around, then pulverizing downward in a continued toss at the ground.  
The air whipped, his body shoving all the momentum forth into a dark crescendo. It's 'bones' cracked sickeningly against the pavement, and the beast was done.

As a being, it broke apart into black shards of cosmic glass, soon fading away altogether.

Three rushed him, intent to overwhelm with numbers, but he anticipated their simple-minded approach.

He unleashed a force of pure fire, charring out these embers at the expense of stamina that he had to burn.  
It radiated in an uncomplicated wave, rippling it's molten energy like a bomb. It all channeled upward in a pyre, lighting the ground afire.

It acted as a beacon of hate to the denizens of this cult, hopefully they'd feel the fear he wanted them to.

He continued walking forward to the statue in the town garden, a flourishing bevy of flowers and fantastical plants adorning the grassy knoll.

A creature of lightning slashed his body, tearing the cloak away to reveal his crimson garb. The robe acted as a buffer, sparing him injury as he revealed two chained gauntlets.  
It lunged at his countenance, demanding blood in exchange for kin, but received penance as a fist in it's mid. He beat both cestus as fast as he could against it's crooked form, bashing the natural plating.  
Though silver, it's homegrown armor couldn't match his fury as he put his entire arm through it's chest. Sung was it's song, now it would remain silent as it fell to the flatland.

Grace wasn't in these monster's nature.

He kept his stroll chugging, refusing to brake for these lowly pissants. Still, at least they were demons instead of those vile primates.

A grunt came at him, dragging it's ghoulish body across the tar of the road, and tried to cease his walk with a claw.

It's slovenly teeth hung loose from it's purple-skinned mouth, a sheer sexual glee in it's eyes as it hunted for flesh to consume.

He hated Raksha's.

With one raw haymaker, the impact shattered stone.

It's head liquefied instantaneously, drawing out it's eyes from the skull in all directions, and fragmenting the cranium itself into tiny pieces.  
Sadistic was his yarn, savage was how he chose to spin it. In a sensational flurry, he ravaged all before him. None were safe.

Tiring of Ifrit, Vergil banished them in favor of his reliable katana. He spun as he drew yamato deep into side of scarecrow.  
As he turned, the blade collected another scarecrow, then another, until all four were wedged upon the blade. Time slowed, celerity a swift sense for his evolved genes.  
A moment later, the blade warped through while they still traveled together intact.

With Yamato freed, he dragged it back up against the sheath, then placed it back within it's hollow . . . The scarecrows burst to ashes.

Air slowly escaped from Vergil's lips as he straightened his back and looked to the sky, stretching.

The collisions made scars across the well-maintained street, a couple feet between him and them; the remaining opposition.

Yet he looked to his right and saw more creatures emerge from shadow, hungry.

Just an arms length away now.

One of them seemed larger, as if to command dominance among the varied lot.  
It screeched the black tongue at him, promising death and retribution against him.

"This is  _really_  going to hurt you." Vergil promised with a forewarned wince, an infernal black-toothed grin beneath the stoic surface.

Vergil sprung off his feet, zooming across the thoroughfare with Force Edge elongated.

A blue blur, it pierced the lead creatures heart, and, with malice, expelled a vermillion explosion of energy that shot enemies to the stratosphere.  
In a rage, the slayer emerged from the smoke with an airborne rave of strikes, swiping Yamato left and right, diagonal and vertical, with precise abandon.  
Each stilted monstrosity exploded into bits of wire and dust as Vergil's rising form delivered a blitzkrieg of hellfire-laced slashes. The magical powers of his fury caustically de-manufactured their bodies.  
The release of smoldering hate destroyed them in an instant, a colorful display of crimson and azure.

He grabbed two remaining creatures around their twisted bodies and rotated himself, still flying.

He arched the two of them together, flinging them aloft his head and crushing them together.  
With one final barge, he thrashed them into a brick wall, bouncing their durable frames off the barrier. Easily, this re-angled them to meet Yamato.

On his descent, he slashed open each of them, playing ping pong with their mutilated cadavers and the partition's surface.

Black blood spattered the pavement and the wall itself, covering every conceivable object while he toyed with them.

In the end, they ended their existence as empty vessels, departing in a haze of dirt. His blue crush did the job, the poles of transcendent light blinking in and out of existence.  
He landed, satisfied from this bout, if he could call it that. His humanity drifted farther away from him, but a sudden flush of images brought it back.  
A single female voice dominated his mind, telling him to focus. His task was one of revenge, and it was best accomplished when one was hunting for blood.

* * *

His thoughts recollected, he began to ponder this development further.

Why? Why would Elias give some random member of this place his birthright? Was he even being honest to begin with?  
For what reason could they really need the amulets? They were created to unleash hell, not better mankind.  
Perhaps they too were trying to attain Sparda's power. Foolish men, the power of his father could not be held by  _their_  wretched hands.

An ominous boom shook the place to it's core.

His breath quickened, lacking control unnerved him . . . "What was that?"

An ear-piercing howl erupted from the alley behind the statue. Agonizing screams of humankind populated the airwaves as the sounds of footsteps scurrying came his way.

Tears rained down on him like the breath of Zephyrus, a shrieking monsoon of tormented winds.

Hooded denizens came into view, when suddenly- "Everything you can't finish, I fix for you.  _You'll never be free_."

A thick voice echoed clearly in his head, it was so familiar . . . No.  
It couldn't be, Mundus . . . The dark lord returned, he'd heard him directly.  
It was right in his ear, he couldn't mistake that.

Dread started to infect his mind once more. A cold hand gripped his shoulder.

The silver slayer trembled slightly as he turned around. Who was he who felt so inclined to impersonate his cursed beholder?

"Are you okay, sir?" A random man asked him.

"What . . ."

Vergil flinched back to the street, and there were a number of people walking about, going on with their daily routines.  
It was as if his cacophonous slaughter had not even taken place. Were they aware of the existence of devils, or was the grip of the order so strong they'd been bewitched into blissful ignorance?

He winced his wrist, and the man's head fell by the wayside, all the people began to pray as he thought they would not.

Leaving the corpse, he backtracked to where he'd killed before, a double check. The asphalt was normal and clean.

He knew he'd walked a longer distance than he'd come back, what was going on?

"Is this a joke?" He wondered aloud to himself.

Yet somehow, his memory of his time here was no more than certain flashes, vague echoes of certain moments.  
With a long exhale, he quickly detected the telltale signs that his brain still sought to wake itself from a nap.  
These twisted images were the vestiges of a dream, turning in on themselves in nonsensical ways, grasping to remain. All was gone except the will to be, a reflection in a cracked mirror.  
Then, from nowhere, came the memory of where he was supposed to be fighting these dark fiends, clearing all paths.

It played out as before, but the man never came.

The voice?

No time to wonder.

Had it happened or not? He was back where he thought he should be, close to the statue.

He gathered himself, his brown cloak once more severed from him as he continued his road beyond Sparda's effigy. He reached his house, once a fragment in the distance, where he used to live.  
Around the corner of a tailor's place he regularly frequented when he finally began to make ample funds for his regal tastes.

The old house was nothing like he remembered, the charm was gone. It'd all been rebuilt, replaced with modern prefab exteriors and the vegetation that once grew so plentiful had all been hacked away.  
All that remained were a few strands of grass amongst the long bricks. He knelt down and searched through the sand amongst the cement, until he found the key.  
Amazing that it still remained, as it should have been long gone, wasted away like a flower in the wind. But that was what this place did to things, it just held on, remembering all secrets dormant.

Just like how he remembered his time here.

The key looked stripped. Has it been that long? He touched the nordic-looking wood door, oddly the only thing that remained of his stay.

"Is that you, Gilver? Have you finally come back?" The voice of an elder echoed behind him.

He froze in place, it was a familiar timbre. It couldn't be, was he still alive?

Vergil reversed his head to look at the man who had hobbled up behind him, his hand clutching an old cane. Once he saw his face, the old man's look brightened.

"Unbelievable, you've returned!"

"M-. . . Marcos!?" Vergil couldn't help but respond.

The man was ancient by his standards even when he'd first met him.

"The very same." The man let out a hearty chuckle, unaffected by age, "You've grown. Nice new style. Poor Helena would have been happy, if she was still around."

Vergil shook his head and waved at him hesitantly.

The negative look on his face wasn't hidden particularly well.

"Wow, you  _still are_  the same talkative bundle of joy." He heard the old man chuckle again, before he staggered by and shakily opened the door, "That old thing won't work, come in."

So many seasons in the abyss had changed his outlook, but the interior hadn't changed as much as the outside.

The house was filled with natural earthy tones and all the hues mother nature can provide. The paintwork on the trim was brilliant white, flawless.  
The path wound to a double oak front door, and was made from loose pea shingle.  
It's windows weren't the large ones that were so fashionable nowadays, but more the size he used to see in old country cottages, and like them they were mullioned.  
But that's where all the old-world charm ended, once across the threshold it was technology and modern design all the way.  
The floors were hyper-polished concrete and the furniture Scandinavian, high end designers only. It almost resembled a gutted warehouse, albeit with clarion halls.

The only compromise to modernity was the sheepskin on the floor, so clean it was hard to believe anyone had ever stepped foot on it.

Why was it so clean? Has someone been coming here and keeping it safe? Who?

Helena . . .

It'd been ages since he'd seen her.

It was a one story house filled with the price of half the money he'd ever earned. Vergil began searching for the bedroom.

It was almost a chore, the reckless redesign leaving him without a clue as to the houses's old architecture.

After a five minute period of jutting in and out of rooms without purpose, and others with distinct ones, he finally found it.

His old bunk.

The bedroom was medium-sized, with a gloomy umber color. Strange that it's original flooring had been maintained, as had all the other compartments.

The king size bed was covered with grey linens and blankets. He was never one for color, at least not back then.  
His mind drifted, remembering the figure of a woman sleeping there. Her raven hair covering the pillow like an inky shadow over the light.  
Her smooth, tan skin barely hidden by royal purple, satin sheets . . .

However the memory was cut short.

Within him, within his mind, that dreaded wrath began to boil up.

The fact that he had to go all over the place just to understand what happened to his brother, the fact someone was so disgusting that they didn't mind going in and disturbing the dead for their goals . . .

He wouldn't do this to his worst enemy.

. . .

* * *

_Night had fallen fast upon the land._  No more than an hour ago, the sky was stained hues of red, orange and pink, but all color had faded away.

Now, only a matte black canvas: No stars to be looked upon.  
The darkness was abnormally thick, the lanterns in certain houses hardly lit the path, allowing a number of people to see, at most, about an arm's reach forward.  
Other than the darkness and himself, all that seemed to exist was the chilly wind that tested pride. It had a harsh bite, felt through any clothing rather easily.  
He could feel the hairs on his arm raise, and the bite of the wind had left its mark in the form of small bumps, though they soon faded. The affect was more than flesh-deep.  
A shattered goal filled his soul with a ruthless cry. His blood ran gelid through his veins, and his bones chilled themselves to the marrow.

This wasn't normal at all.

Vergil traversed the main path to the town's cathedral, it's prosperous light shining like an old golden beacon to the humans.

It was something horrid to those wicked few, whose borders could not be crossed for fear of true damnation.

Strange sounds crept up on his way.

It was more like a vacuum sucking the air backwards, robotically chipping the gusts away.

His stroll continued till it grew so loud he could find no solace.

The man stopped, his tall body looking positively unearthly in the dark.

Tilting his head back, he responded "If you're looking for blood, move on."

His demonic eyes can see clearly.

"Somebody help me!"

"No." He replied, then turned his back.

Vergil continued walking away as the boy's screams continued. So it goes.

A number of people had been dragging the poor man right in front of his eyes into some kind of portal. It was a sinful thing, the hellion vortex feeling rotten to the senses.  
Once more, he checked his surroundings. It seemed ice began gathered around the roofs ever so softly, crusting chips of itself to the edges. The ground went white, as if it'd been snowing for hours.  
The air around him felt heavy once more, like something around the corner would be coming for him. Within one second, a loud bang punched through the fog itself, roaring hungrily.

It left an obvious trail over the houses, like large claws pounced upon them.

"Another pawn? Or someone real this time?"

. . .

"Ghosts, come back for vengeance." He spat.

Like a wave, a number of knights appeared and drew their rapiers.

They took strategic positions around him, boxing him in. With a single hand, the crimson hunter unsheathed Yamato slowly.

"Cute."

The first man came forward and plunged his rapier forward.  
It passed through Vergil's flesh, but the slayer barely felt anything. He kept standing in place, looking down as if he hadn't noticed the wound.

He smirked in response, the knight took a step back.

Within a mere millisecond, the dark angel released a kick upward into the stout knight's mid section.

He sailed into an old-world spire, splattering against 18th century bricks before falling back to earth over thirty feet.

With a solitary swipe of his sword, he batted four away back into the rest of their compatriots, carved right in two through their steel plating.

They were nothing more than rag dolls to him, idiotic primitives in outdated armor.  
Nobody had told them that 1730 was long gone now, no need for sluggish weaponry.

One knight drew in behind him, bringing it's zweihander down towards the Cambion's neck. Calmly, without even looking, Vergil placed his katana back over his shoulder, blocking the strike.  
He sparked the blades together with a twist, forcing the oversized blade back, and the knight off his feet. Vergil shifted back, and brought his knee into the young boy's ribs.  
They cracked open, the metal chest plate splitting from the force as he travelled back to the ground sixty feet away. An older knight screamed at him, the boy was his eldest son.

"You murderer! Savior take you!"

"Better protect the weak when they're young, it would've saved him from me you hypocrite." Vergil responded, callous.

Another came at his side, but the slayer was too quick, stamping the man to the ground with a swift heel.  
He buried his boot deep into the knight's face, a torrent of red billowing out over all the men's gears.

The older knight screamed, "You'll burn in Hell for this!"

Vergil actually got a chuckle out of that one, and so shoved his free hand onto the knight's shoulder. He was sent back to the ground, hitting the hilly trail with his back. He tried sitting up.  
Cruelly, Vergil stomped on his chest, forcibly holding him down under the sole of his leather footwear. He kept chuckling, sociopathic.

"Hahaha,  _burn!_ Ah, such a limited imagination. You see this?" He referenced the cutlass still stuck in his side from the first attack, "This is a killing blow on any other man."

Swiftly, he casually fenced off another two knights that tried to save their elder.  
He slashed their throats, pierced their armor, tore them to pieces as all the others kept their distance, afraid.

The slayer gripped the handle and ripped it from his side, then dangled the dripping edge over the man's face, kicking off the grandiose helmet.

"This is  _my_ blood, from  _my_  body. Happy are they who come to  _my_  supper." He gleefully growled as the blood flowed off the metal, dripping onto the old man's face.

" _Father!_ " A young boy screamed through plate mail, and he ran forward to the towering demon from their unfocused formation.

Vergil casually whipped the rapier around, and the blade shot through the air, impaling itself through the adolescent's brain.

He fell to ground dead, and the old man screamed to the heaven's.

Vergil gravelly replied, "Yet another life . . .  _You_  could have saved."

He then sent a judgment cut through him, dicing the knight in pieces, decorating the ground red. The reality of having killed a father and his two children hit Vergil hard.  
Where did that cruelty come from? It wasn't in his nature until now. A strange distance between himself and his actions grew . . . The action's of these people to follow a false prophet sealed their fate.  
And yet, his ruthlessness felt equally wrong. Far be it from him to ponder this in a fight, the other's took advantage of this moral distraction to spike him all at once.

Javellins, spears, swords, maces, the entire lot of a town's out-of-touch weaponry shot through him.

Vergil bared his teeth, and in a wild-eyed frenzy, released a torrent of sonic slashes that ended all but one life instantaneously.

Heads rolled, limbs came free, and a lustrous corpse party of a grim current bedazzled the streets of the city.

The last knight fell back on lower spine, cuts deep in his chest as all his friends fell to the ground, hacked to pieces. He began trying to wrestle himself back, but his heavy armor wouldn't let him get far.  
Bathed in darkness, the reaper of their souls came forth to his dying breath, katana in hand. Scarlet eyes met him, a symbol of vehement destruction, the end of life.

And the figure spoke to him . . .

"Take a look to the sky, just before you die. It's the last time you ever will."

Breathless, euphoric, he complied, and the stars were beautiful. Funny how such trivial things become so important in moments like this. But something started to happen.  
The stars started going out, the sky's becoming blacker and blacker till no light was here. In this new place, not even his mortal death-bringer had followed.  
Where he was, he couldn't say for sure, perhaps it was salvation. He began tumbling down a large hole of dirt and buried roots, bloodied still. And as he went it grew warmer, and warmer . . .

Vergil removed Yamato from the man's forehead, his journey to hell surely unenviable.

He staggered about, blinded by the weight of his actions. He wouldn't forget their screams, their faces . . . What compelled him to this violent end?

He was supposed to be fulfilling his brother's task of helping the helpless, not taking their lives from them. . .

Every once in a while, a good one came along, he supposed.

He put these thoughts to bed, straightening himself out as he seemed to completely gloss over the human blood covering his body.

Instead, he followed his senses, to where this creature was going.

It was big, and blind perhaps, the nature of it's tracks made no sense to him. Haggard and breathing heavily, he walked on.

. . .

* * *

A labyrinth of phantasm grey mist hung over Fortuna's forest. It seemed as if it had arisen as part of the greenery's wet breath.  
Hovering like voodoo vapour in the arcane twilight of the dusk, it was motionless as it surveyed the trees beneath.  
Like an apparition one might see over an ancient barrow, it was more than air and less than flesh. Kinless and kith-less, it wove itself together, increasing in density.

* * *

The trail of snow stopped there, upon a large hill it seems.

Just as he was about to jump, he heard a tantalizing feminine laugh. At first, he thought he was imagining it, but then another laugh echoed.

Sounds of the longing, passionate moans, giggling through the wind.

Vergil whirled around looking for the source.

"Over here . . ." Moaned one of the voices.

He saw them: Two dancing figures watching him, longing for him.

They were two faery-like beings of ethereal beauty. Colored like water, they frolicked on air, nude.

Their long, flowing hair waved and floated, as if they were underwater, making them even more alluring.

Vergil was undeniably aroused for a second, but he knew better and that feeling was pushed back easily. This carnal duo seemed to be embracing one another, openly exploring their luminescent bodies.  
They began to run their hands over their supple skin, then gestured to him.

"Don't you want to come? Don't you want to play with us? Come here. . ."

Vergil rolled his eyes, annoyed. Another distraction.

He sighed and walked over.

When he approached one of them held out it's hand, awaiting his touch.

He seemed to raise his palm in response, possibly agreeing to the threesome.

His hand passed her's snaking towards one of them by the hair.

Seizing the frigid, giant lock, he snapped back, pulling her roughly, and dragging a large silhouette from within the snowy smog.

"Hiding behind lust. You really are insipid. Face me, coward." The halfbreed sneered.

The faeries were revealed as simple, luminous traps for a massive, scaly frog-like beast. It growled as it pulled itself together.

"You are smarter than you look." The giant toad spoke, bits of green saliva staining the ground ever so often, "The infamous son of Sparda. I can smell his seed anywhere. They told of your arrival."

"Who's they?" Vergil questioned, " _You_  are the one who kidnapped these people back in the city? Don't amuse me, toad."

It rasped, laughing at his questions. The crystal spikes on it's back revealed themselves, as did other amphibious features.

"The time is almost near. . ." The toad continued, "Daddy will return, you'll be here to witness it all."

"Daddy!?" Vergil questioned him, even more confused.

The anuran shook it's body, flabby joints and skin shaking out of fashion till snapping back into place. Some of the ice on its head broke loose. The pieces fell towards Vergil like bullets.

He drew Yamato, and dashed straight up at the frog, weaving through the icy bullets while they rained from the sky.  
The toad started backing up, trying to put distance in between them, but Vergil was moving far faster than he realized.

He zipped straight up to its mouth, then gathered power within Yamato's edge, the katana glowed almost purple.

He circled in place and struck the demon's lower lip with a downward slice. The force of the blow jerked the toad down, almost pushing it's head into the ground.

"Stand aside." Vergil hissed, backflipping over numerous feet, then sending a followup energy slash toward the creature.

The toad screeched and landed on it's weaker front legs, chin collapsing into the ground. The lip of the creature was torn open, bleeding red.  
Vergil stood up, watching the creature squirm in pain.

"Is that all you've got, Bael?" Vergil shook his head, and cocked his head to the side slightly, "Disappointing."

Before Vergil could reach him again, the toad took a deep breath, throat expanding.  
It swelled to ridiculously huge levels, and it let out a roar, mixed with jagged ice fragments.  
Vergil quickly charged against the forced winds and launched up through the air in a black blur, avoiding the deadly shards as they ripped forward below.

He coiled his hind legs as the beast leapt forward, jaws wide open. Vergil darted back, keeping himself just out of range, then rammed Yamato's hilt into the amphibian's chin.

Reversing his grip, he released a backhanded slash upwards, blinding one of it's eyes.

"You little-. . ." The demon growled, "Still, you are going to die here. I'm not. . . defeated. There's more of us."

"Have you bred since we last met? The frost toads are a disgrace to demon-kind."

"Oh yes, young one, I've bred a wondrous world of freezing torment. From beyond this hellgate, my kind is renewed to destroy you!"

The black obelisk behind it stood enormously tall, even larger than that of the creature.

"A time-waster; that's what you are." Vergil prepared to charge once again, not content to let someone else escape. A fog emerged and a figure stepped forward from it.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

"D-Dante!?" He whispered.

The man before him had the face, the cloths: No doubt. However, his skin was paler than usual, potentially translucent.

Dante's lips slowly moved to a half a smile, before he walked away. Vanished down the path forward.

Vergil felt his legs weaken.

"W-wait!" He started following him, ignoring the toad and it's words.

His heart was pounding as he bolted uphill. The shadows of the trees lurched out from the darkness, shrouding everything in a crooked black shade.  
The wind yowled, slamming cold blasts of air upon him. He stumbled on every rock he encountered. He wanted to scream against the wind, to banish it like a god.  
Finally he spotted the gates of a graveyard, the moon was out, illuminating the pale circus at the cemetery gates.

Through the murkiness, the winds of Salem were whistling through the trees.

The place was empty, having stayed deathly silent for a long time.

"Dante!?" He called out.

"In the field's, so green and so free, the bodies are burning. Seeds gaze up through their husks." He heard a cold emotionless voice sing, it's lyrics twisted out of form.

"The clouds keeps them from the light, and the sky cries white tears of snow. I'm going to come find you . . .  _I'm going to come find you . . ._ "

The last lines were stated instead of melodiously chirped, and they grew slower, more dissonant.

* * *

. . .

Eva started singing as the boys laid on her lap, each one resting on a thigh. Eyes closed, an unmistakable smile on their faces.

Her hands played with their hairs gently.

"Sweet dreams, my sons."

. . .

* * *

Vergil froze, desperate to see where the voice came from.

A figure jumped from the railing ahead.

"I've been waiting for you!" Dante's unmistakable voice addressed him. He didn't know what to say to that, he simply stood there watching him.

His head hurt, like it was about to pop like a balloon.

"Dante. . . What are you doing here of all places?"

"You failed," Dante spoke, pointing a literal finger, "I was right there in front of you, and you let me die. You're nothin' more than a hypocritical freak.  
You're weak, you wanna make a name for your self at the expanse of family."

"No, not true." He calmly replied, closed his eyes and decided to walk away. He needed to keep going and search for the Order.

"What!?" It exclaimed, "You're walking away!?"

"Does it surprise you when mind games don't work?" He asked, unbothered.

"I'm your brother, you will listen to me!"

"As much as I'd love to believe it were true, you can't. Don't even try."

With that, the slayer turned his back and kept walking.

Suddenly, a woman cried out to him, her head was being shredded from the inside. Emotional pain flowed out of her every pore.  
From her mouth came a cry from so raw that even the eyes of the strangers around were suddenly wet with tears. Vergil snapped his head to the sight, as old-world villagers gathered around a strange woman.

Dressed in black, her blonde hair was flying in the wind chaotically.

He grew closer, the crowd growing thin as they stepped away. Odd they would be here in the midst of a cemetery. They had to be spirits.

At the center, it was Eva, but her face was so pale. He barely recognized her, the grime of dried blood smeared on her face, and she was emaciated - dangerously underweight.

He kept his distance, his knowledge telling him to stay away.

"They took my baby. . . Why!? It should have been me." Eva silently spoke, pained.

From her eyes came a thick flow of tears. Crucified for no sins, now there was only pain, enough to break her. Pain, enough to change his perception beyond reality.

"Where are you Vergil!? What did they do to you?"

The child in her arms tried to pull away from her.

"Let me go mom, I'll search for him." The kid didn't wait for her to answer and broke from her grasp, tearing off into the dark.

As he did, her stomach wrenched open, held together by nothing.

She yelled after the boy,

"Wait, Dante. Don't go alone! Don't leave me . . ." She ended on a whimper.

She then stood slowly, and looked to her grown boy, standing before her. Her gutted figure was stick-like, shrouded by that black gown.

"This is my tomb, this is where I rest. I am interred in a dark place. Why weren't you there? I'm going to come find you." Her voice was deep, uncharacteristically hollow.

Her tears turned to scorching blood, outlining the edge of the incisions on her face; he hadn't noticed before now.

She opened her gangly arms, offering an embrace for him, her revolting body decaying as she took each rickety step.

Vergil felt paralyzed, this insanity from the pain he surely knew, his breaths quickening. He felt his body weakening, the sight itself sapping strength.

What's happening here!? No!  _Stay away!_  This isn't possible!  
All horrors paled to this, his mutilated mother dragging her entrails with every step.

He heard an axe being ground, her rotted flesh coming closer with every move.

He couldn't hurt his mother, he wouldn't. It was his mom!

Slowly, slowly. . . She was mere inches away now.

Her nose had fallen off, and oversized maggots burst from the flesh on her face. Finally, he could bear it no longer.  
With a terrified, impulsive slice, he brought Force Edge crashing down from a personal void. A black scourge of power emanated from the blade.  
Her body bisected, falling to ash. It became indiscernible from the snow, and the villagers all faded away.

He fell to the ground and cradled the ashes in his black-gloved hands. Silence.

Force Edge laid there, impaled into the ground. Raw power surged from it's hilt.

He clutched it's handle, holding it almost like a person, down on his knees in the fallen snow. The ashes glowed on contact, imbuing the blade as they disappeared.

The blade was great, feeling comfortable to fall on. But a sharp spleen emerged inside him, the purity of his choler shining through the dark.

"Show-. . . Show yourself! Ulmarag." Once his vision cleared, his voice ragged.

The cemetery felt a lonely shell. The gates were open, blowing in the soft breeze.

"You did this Vergilius." A feminine voice echoed.

He scowled as he climbed to his feet.

With murder on his breath and wrath returned to his heart, the man summoned a black aura from inside himself.

"My mother never calls me Vergilius. Get out here, worm."

The sound of flapping wings filled the air, and the wind whipped around him. The demon appeared at last, a salvo of razor sharp black feather's racing toward him.

Vergil zoomed to his right, easily evading these treacherous shards.

With a smirk in it's ugly face, the horned beast greeted the devil-man.

"That may be the first time someone's referred to me that way. Good to see you've finally come." Ulmarag told him, "You are going to die this day, it's foretold."

His body had healed, but a scar remained across his face. A reminder of their previous battle.

"What are you planning!?" Vergil barked, "Speak, or I'll make you weep in that grave."

"All in good time, dear halfling. You'll find out soon." The demon snarled back, "Until then,  _sleep. Now._ "

Wrapped in metal coils, the beast extended it's brutish hand and twisted it to the side.

And with that Vergil's vision was engulfed in darkness. He fell, face hitting the soft powdery snow.

...

The cool light of the hidden moon made the cloudy weather seem even colder than it really was, while the pale gleam filtering through the clean, half-closed windows made him seem strangely angelic.  
Almost like a mural in a gothic cathedral, even though his mere existence was sacrilegious to most orders. Moreover, he'd been forced to become more saintly than he ever had been in his life prior . . .

* * *

Still, his classical demeanor couldn't hold a candle to Sanctus, whose Pope-like garbs and Vicar headdress made him a truly divine individual to the human eye.

Agnus supposed Sanctus really was a saintly individual, his tenure with the order having only recently begun.  
The stammering scientist hadn't really become familiar with the group's goals, much less Sanctus as a person. All of this . . . Any of this.  
Perhaps a believer ought to feel something, looking down on the cold, gentle eyes of his mentor.

Yet, the middle-aged fellow had never been anything more to him than someone he should follow, a living, literal parable to serve as a spiritual guide. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Agnus. What have you to say of your findings?" Sanctus addressed him in a cool polite tone. His hands were resting on the desk, checking through scripture of some kind.

"Your Holiness. . . I was t-t-t-told," He stuttered, an issue he couldn't help, "It was successful. The amulet are ret-t-t-t-trieved."

"Wonderful, may the Savior be with you, my child. The time is almost here." Sanctus replied and motioned for him to leave.

Agnus bowed and left the small office.

He rounded right and went down the stairs. At the stairs bottom was a direct door to a freezing, glum room painted grey.

Several empty cages were gathered in the side. His work in the past.

It never bothered him much. He must do what must be done in order to succeed

He'd never held any leader as someone so holy they must be worshiped, no.  
The man had lusted and dreamed for the day Sparda returned and ruled over Fortuna, protecting all inhabitants from the nuclear warfare foretold of outside the city limits.  
Perhaps the two of them are not so different, he mused in silence. He couldn't lie to himself either. Agnus found himself stopping in front of a coffin like tube.

"What am I going. . . T-t-t-t-to do with you?" He spoke to the figure inside the coffin, clad in red cloths.

This is wrong!

Disturbing the dead was over the line.

Is Sparda really worth it?

Would Sparda even approve. . . ?

* * *

**Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this.**


	14. Hush

"Pah!" She scoffed aloud, rolling over in her slovenly sheets as the sunlight hissed at her face.

Her disheveled raven hair lay scattered across her fine face, and every breath she exhaled smelled faintly of eviscerated, decomposing corpses.  
Thankfully, she had nobody to share this putrid moment with. Glancing around her room, she noticed a messy assortment of notebooks, freshly-sharpened color pencils and a pile of money.  
It was for aesthetic pleasure mostly, though she'd occasionally take some when work was drying out. Slowly but surely, she pushed herself out of bed, letting her feet hit the cool floor.  
There's no point in moping, she will be fine. At least for the time being, this pain in her chest would drive her into ruthless efficiency.

Time to do some shopping and walking around.

* * *

**Elsewhere, a braying wind passed over the city, nighttime approaching so many hours after**

* * *

He hated this waiting game. His brother had made it look so easy, made all the numbers dance. He'd been able to recall the most astonishing details of possible places Sparda visited.  
But he was not his younger sibling, and he wanted to move on, to return to the demon world. But a debt kept him tethered here, it had to be done.

He can't leave him alone, that's the major issue.

The truth remained that he didn't know what to do. That was irony in writ made large, that was.

He had commanded _thousands_  of demons in battle. He had routed Mundus' armies like chaff on the wind, and now he was reduced to sitting here. What was he waiting for?  
Thinking up mad desperate plan after mad desperate plan, he'd only abandon each one as impossible. How had he gone from that feared, neutral demon, so great and dominating,  
to feeling the life drain out of him? From the very moment his mentor and close friend ended it all, his brother had returned to the human world, lost in the maze of corruption.  
How come it's got so cold? Why had it happened at all?

He scrubbed his hands through his hair, and let out a smooth, solid sigh. Even though there's much on his mind, he can relax just fine.

People-watching has become a habit for him.

His eyes spotted a woman with short black hair and white clothes. She appeared to be confused, wandering alone, even though she was walking as normal as a human could be.

It's what he learned from his time, observing the humans.

Nothing special really but something in his gut was telling him. . . Trouble hangs around her.

And just like that, he actually saw it; a dark aura following her. Almost hunting after her weathered figure, it pulsated strands of black to the heavens.

Hmmm. . . Bizarre.

He made up his mind to follow her and see. . . Et abierunt

Lady was feeling isolated recently.

Demons had been targeting her for some odd reason. She couldn't walk peacefully. Perhaps it was Arkham's doing, that clown.

Arkham. . . Where did he go?

She had to put an end to this lunacy, the sweltering chase of abandoned kinship growing stale.  
She can't bear the thought he's still out there, planning something to get her, and perhaps kill more people in the way. . . For fun. Searching for seas of gold led her astray.  
The idea of freedom dominated her every move.

The truth is she wanted to leave with Dante, but not who he'd become. She wanted to bring his old self back, leaving and forgetting this unforgiving world behind.

Sailing away; if only.

For a moment is better, but he gave her no chance to offer help.

It was going to take time, but the two of them might pull through this.

Lady took a turn over the side street, ready to check the office one more time for Morrison, for anyone.  
She needed to check with him one more time, to what purpose she wouldn't say.

_Drr... Drr... Drr..._

A rumbling. . .

Lady stopped in her tracks, drawing her pistols to the surroundings. Her reflexes were far greater, must be the result of recent hardships. At least some positivity came out of it.

The street lamps flickered all down the right side of road, and she knew something hid in the shadows.

A thickening smog drifted down.

Heavy claws scraped over the concrete, as something approached her; from where, she couldn't tell. Abruptly, all the lights illuminating the avenue cut out.  
She found herself drenched in darkness, unable to forgive herself for letting this happen. The alley rustled, and the wind died. Creaking sounds emerged, the buildings shuttering.  
All around her, wood beams and concrete swayed, and the growing sounds of claws scraping terra firma made her spine shiver. Scuffs sparked memories, bad ones.  
Makes her fight through the raging maw, the swallowing damnation coming after her pretty hips.

Lady's eyes adjusted to the darkness.

The lights rebooted, extremely dim, still glinting constantly.

Every flicker or so, a shape of the hunched creature became clearer and clearer.

Getting closer, over the sudden change of dusk's light, ever so near did it draw. She prepared herself, strong legs anchoring her discomfort as she took aim.  
Sweat dripped down the side of her left temple, and strain gripped her fingers. The trigger pulled, a sonic launch of lead broke through.  
It stayed still, the shots hitting but not stopping. From the umbra, the creature bolted, as if she couldn't see it coming. The brutish figure came right in front of her.

Shoving it's arm in her side, the beast knew nothing of her more than a simple idea.

War was what it was bred for, the soil of the earth making it's cracked dawn split.

She slammed against a nearby wall, a shout of pain escaping her breath. During the fall, her elbow struck the floor first. By reaction, she pulled upon the handle. The bullet wedged itself into a brick wall.  
With power in her lungs robbed, she stumbled a bit while the monster came closer, obscured by venomous shadows. It's ratty hair secured the image of an undead hulk, nails grinding the sidewalk.  
It's arms hung far down to the ground, the deathly pincers ready to kill prey, not deserving.

She shook her head, a constant chill inside as she let her gun shout.

The shells rolled toward her attacker. . . Lady told herself to focus.

Gazing up, the young woman saw furious crimson eyes glister from the fickle black, above an ebony snout.

Before her stood a demon, but this one was different. Lady blinked her eyes to check if she saw this thing correctly.

In the inky fog lay a savage, two-headed thing. Both mugs looked animalistic, wolf's teeth salivating out of instinct. A twisted growl shifted the atmosphere, and those eyes looked accompanied.  
Eerily incandescent, a strange blue glow bathed it's other retina's. Sharp as a fine diamond sword, the razor fangs inched towards her, her thick thighs looking delightful.  
It's skin was mostly scar tissue, hidden beneath onyx fur, squalid and diseased, yet it shivered in the early fall breeze. Tufty and thin, the pelt provided no protection to the elements at all.  
On the torso and face were recent scabs from a meal that fought back, now it picked at them with blood-soaked talons to relieve the boredom of the stake-out.  
Then came movement from the dwelling, the wait nearly over. For such a carnivore, it moved surprisingly stealthy, leaving behind only a trail of large dandruff flakes and heinous odor.

Closer it came, moving like a sullen twitch of death.

From the darkest heart, Lady didn't waste time. Regained focus, she rolled to her back.

"Well there's something new." She whispered and took aim.

One bullet pierced it's chest, which made it's lungs breath strangely, the creature came closer, hissing. The lights closed out, shrouding everything as the unholy sprinted, slamming it's fist to the ground.  
Lady rolled over, the behemoth limb shattering concrete. Keeping her aim focused, she fired again. A holy water-soused bullet rocketed into it's left blue eye.  
It reeled back, clutching the wound with both paws. Screaming to the sky, the beast released a ruthless charge, it's infested fur liberating bits of matter as it went.

She'd managed to get to her knee, the other leg prepared to stand, but the demon held it's left arm at the ready.

Plunging forward, it assaulted scabrous, blood trails flowing through the air. Crying for her flesh, it lunged to the air, spiraling for a slash.

She dove off to the right, it's arm planting into the ground.

A hole punched in the sod, now it's limb could not be freed.

It was stuck for a moment as it tried to pull itself out. Lady took the advantage, pulling a loaded Uzi on her dark guest. The coming spray of bullets stripped off rotted flesh, lacerating the bones.  
This old fiend yanked it's arm loose, finally released from it's shattered prison, then shrieked during the onslaught. It pushed past her fire, growing more mutilated and strange.  
It swung a fist into a lamppost. She ducked in time, the blinking machine falling atop the creature's two craniums. It rested between, making it awkward to move as she pushed past the elongated limb.

Shooting off wildly, each bullet chewing on the creature's back.

Grabbing the post, it swung it around like a baseball bat, knocking her off her feet.

The taste of iron flooded her mouth. Her back hit the tar, and it felt as though at least two ribs had snapped.  
It thrashed the pole around, smashing glass as it howled to the sky. Busting through metal, it tore apart cars and threw the weapon into a wall.  
Spiked through, the monster zeroed back in on it's target, the pain leaving. Ancient savages like itself weren't skilled at focus.

Trudging forward, it grasped her head and hoisted her up.

Well, what now? This was it she supposed.

Before it's hand closed, a sudden presence overtook them. It was beyond good and evil, feeling like it came from a different space altogether.

"Et abierunt, puellae dimittere turpi bestia!" She heard a man shout, the language completely foreign to her.

The strange demon's eyes widened, and it dropped her crumpled form to the ground. Losing courage, it slipped back away, out of her fallen vision.  
It fled the street, leaving the earthen plane outright. The soil relaxed, and the atmosphere calmed. Lady spat out blood as she lifted herself onto her side.

Once more, as she stumbled, her brain flummoxed from the sight of such a Daemon.

First time she felt like this, she made the connection deep down that the recent appearance of that lame 'Order' was somehow connected

Lady checked behind her and saw a man with dark hair standing a few feet behind her. She coughed some more, laying there silently. He acknowledged her,

"You look awful." He said, genuinely concerned for her steadily worsening condition.

"Thank-. . . -You." She spat out from her damaged lungs.

"A creature like that shouldn't appear here. Something is  _very wrong_." He spoke in a calm polite manner.

Lady grabbed her scattered pistol, "Who the hell are you?"

"I am Modeus." He replied casually. "I ask of you to tell me, have you seen a creature like that before? When was it?"

"That was the first time." Lady replied, her energy diminished.

Modeus took out a vial of liquid, though what is was couldn't be identified. He poured a small drop into her listless lips. Slowly, her body felt rested.  
She tried to move, and surprisingly, her broken ribs had put themselves back together. She couldn't fathom why, or even what the substance he gave her was.  
The idea was obscure, perhaps a supernatural remedy. Either way, she was thankful.

He stood and let her move around, scanning the streets as the lights returned on, and the power finally stabilized.

She breathed in heavily, her lungs feeling brand new, in fact even stronger than before.

"Hah, come to think of it. . . Something's been off ever since yesterday." However she ceased this, realizing she was talking to a stranger who could easily turn out to be just another demon.

Lady backtracked slightly, and abruptly pointed her Submachine Gun at his face.

When he turned, he flinched, disappointed and caught off-guard all at the same time.

"Who are you? One of these demons wondering around?" To her surprise, the stranger merely showed exasperation.

With a sigh he spoke, "I assure you miss, I'm a non-hostile demon who was just passing through on my own, and I don't involve myself with any human death."

His reply was deadpan, and then he took a step toward her.

Lady backed away slowly, still keeping the barrel trained.

Modeus tensed slightly, "Look, the only reason I followed you here is to see what that thing was that followed you. . . I cannot comprehend the notion."

Lady lowered her weapon slightly, "What do ya mean?"

Modeus lowered his gaze to the ground.

"I'm not. . ." He blushed, "I'm not  _into_  that. I don't kill humans or eat them, or whatever."

She looked at him skeptically.

"I'm serious, I'm not your enemy." He was formal in most every way, "The two-headed wolves are Sparda's followers. They vanished eons ago along with him. They  _never_  leave his side."

"So if they-" Lady whispered.

"Yes." He replied immediately, "But why would they attack humans? They're loyal creatures who follow Sparda's orders. If he wills himself not to kill, they don't either."

Lady rubbed her forehead.

"Who are you!? Why are you telling me this?" She said, her stance becoming more feminine.

"I can sense that you have the blood of the priestess, you are connected to Sparda." He answered and crossed his arms.

The priestess who had been sacrificed in order to seal Temen Ni Gru; barely anyone knows this fact, if there  _is_  anyone who actually knows. Unless they researched it deeply; and that means  _deeeeeeply_.

"Do you know where his children are? I must speak with them."

* * *

**With combat over, the restless duo heads to a coffee shop, unable to trust one another fully**

* * *

The tiny café huddled despondent among the towering city blocks. Washed out under the overcast sky, it hunched into itself, fighting against the drizzle.  
Hundreds of people rushed by it, outside on the crowded street. Performers both outside and in; the outdoors containing acoustic guitars while the inside had a relaxing jazz band.  
By night time, this cafe is the color of supermarket oranges, that shiny, fresh look glistening all through it's interiors.

The jazz pours out of the open doors, along with the aroma of fresh baked Italian and French foods: Lasagna, Ratatouille, Bucatini, Ragu, Coq Au Vin. It was all there.

Of Lady's favorite places to eat, she always came here in the morning for coffee, before starting about her usual day.

The dozen or so customers glanced up as the door swung open, heralded by a blast of cold wind as the two of them entered. Several seemed to stare at Modeus and the strange aura around him.  
The length of his strikingly-dark hair helped that even more. The customers returned to their conversations as the door closed behind the new occupants and the cold breeze was forgotten about.  
Lady chose her usual table by the window, when a young man came over.

"Good evening Lady, the usual?" It struck him as odd that she came at night.

"Hey Josh," She replied with an uncharacteristic smile, nodding, "Yep."

She never smiled, but here, it was solace. The atmosphere was kind.

Josh gazed at the emotionless man, "What would you like, sir?"

Modeus crossed his arms and replied, "One strawberry sunday, if you have it here."

"Got it." Josh nodded, and returned behind the counter.

He was a typical server in eateries like this, dressed in all black with a customary apron in front.  
It was a refreshing slice of normalcy in a demented world like this.

Awkward silence filled the air, between the two of them, neither was very good at socializing.

Lady chose to finally speak, "You said you know 'the priestess.' Can you-? Can you tell me more about her? I need to know."

The stern look on her face said it all.

Modeus sighed. She wasn't sure if it was sadness or a bother.

"Her name was Charlotte, I still recall. She had the longest raven hair, a testament to humanity's genetic structure. It reached down to her knees, covering her lovely complexion."

Lady leaned forward, resting her chin on her knuckles. She listened carefully.

"She was known among humans for her spiritual power. But, their thoughts about her were torn. Some feared her. Rumors were spread among certain children that she was a criminal.  
Other people believed her innocence, though they grew to be the minority. She was an outcast for most of her time." He paused for a moment, a sad sorrow in his eyes,  
". . . By that era, Sparda was still in war against demon-kind, he couldn't seal them away, not yet. He thought he could trust her, so he sought her help to bring peace once and for all."

His face seemed to brighten briefly, "That's when I met her."

Lady took a moment to absorb what she just heard, on a personal basis. She moved her hands down, placing one on the table and one beneath.  
She soothed the side of her thigh. For whatever reason, it helped her calm down when she was nervous.

Lady was, for real, tied to Sparda? Tied to the legendary knight of darkness. . . The tale seemed little more than myth.

"How long did you know her? Did you miss her when she-. . . You know." She inferred the painful event.

He chuckled, much to her surprise.

"The truth is. . . I feel like I'm looking at her right now. The only difference is those eyes."

Her hand flinched beneath the table, and her face grew worried. These eyes were her father's. . . Hereditary Heterochromia Iridum of the same exact coloring; an extreme rarity.

He noticed her face, "What's the matter?"

She collected herself.

"You're honest with me, right? You aren't some kind of demon filth, trying to lure in human prey?" Lady muttered.

At last, some kind of an emotion was evident in his face.

A sense of tenderness. . . A bizarre warmth.

"I swear on my honor, young one,  _I am_  telling you the truth. It's like she's reincarnated through you."

She closed her eyes, cleared her head.

"What do you need my help for? You're a demon, you'll be fine on your own right?" She asked him point blank.

Modeus placed something on the table in front of her.

"This is something only for you. Charlotte's descendent is the only one capable of wearing it."

Once Lady checked it out, it was a necklace of some kind, with the oldest, most ornate design she had ever seen. Purple jewels graced the middle, glittering every time a light graced it.

"If the wolves spread, it means chaos is upon us. Ragnarok. . . Please tell me where Sparda's children are, their lives are in danger."

"What's happening? Explain: I can't help if I don't know what's going on." Lady answered urgently.

" _They_   _are_   _the sacrifice_ , in order to reawaken him, or what's left of him. This day I felt the existence of an abomination. It's growing stronger."

Lady's eyes widened.

"Dante!?" She whispered, but she caught herself, "No, he'll be fine, he can take care of himself."

"You don't comprehend this. Something seriously wrong is happening. I can't describe it well, but it's like something is disturbing this realm, from the shadows.  
I've never felt something like this in my thousand years." He glanced down at his plate, deeply pondering.

Looking back up at her, he involved the woman in his thoughts.

"You can help delay this thing, if we can just buy Sparda's sons enough time to finish it off."

* * *

**In a darkened city, the Genesis begins, and revelations howl**

* * *

The clangor of swords had died hours ago, the bellowing slaughter hushed; silence laid bare on the red-stained snow.

The bleak night's moon glittered so blindingly from the iced earth, that the snow-covered stationed struck sheens of silver from a number of broken spears, where all the dead lay in a heap.

"Dear lord!? What happened here?"

A tall young man with brown hair froze for a moment. He couldn't believe his eyes, he didn't want to anyway. He never saw something like it, even in his worst nightmares.

The little time he spent serving the order was always quiet and peaceful.

Now, he was seeing something his eyes couldn't ever erase.

The adrenalin flew through his veins like a carp through the river, but he was locked in place, unable to move a single muscle, not even to call out for help.  
To let the other men know, inform  _someone_  to tell His Holiness. The choking horror completely paralyzed him, and the more he thought about running away, the more he felt discouraged.  
It was utterly terrifying, because the beast that did this  _was still in the city somewhere_. And that was just the beginning. That idea only made it worse.

If that was even possible.

"W-Who did this?" Most of the deceased had an unforgettable scream etched in their face.

A couple of the order's men rushed over, and started checking them one by one, looking for any survivors possible.

"Whoever did this is clearly sending a message to us." Credo heard one of the men speak.

"It is a cryptic warning, that's for sure. What are we to do?" Credo questioned the others.

An older man came forward from the middle of the group.

"Keep calm, His Holiness is looking over this as we speak. For now, we should remove the bodies and try to avoid public panic as much as possible."

"Okay, okay. . ." Credo agreed.

* * *

He ascended the stairs, giving but a glance out the glass windows to the gardens below.  
Up another flight, and through the shelves, narrow pathways led to another great glass mural, giant and ornate.

He could see out over the center courtyard of the cathedral, the nighttime sleet giving Fortuna a warm forgiving look.

Behind it's surface was a roman office and a table, upon which sat parchments, scrolls, holy scriptures, and books of all knowledge.

And who sat at this desk was the Master himself.

"Credo, fear not child" He heard, turning to face his most beloved mentor.

"Master." He replied.

"Come forward. You need to listen," The old man gestured, his voice warm, or as warm as it could ever be, for the distance he held to everyone.

"This demon behind the massacre will not scare us away." Sanctus spoke sharply, "Our savior  _will_  awaken, and he will rule all. My plan is working as we speak, something I saved for an emergency."

Credo bowed his head, "Your Holiness, my adoptive brother has been sensing the chaos since yesterday."

"You speak of Nero?"

"Yes." Credo replied, "He hasn't slept well, crying, confused. It's like something familiar is coming to him, making him hear things in the night."

Sanctus crossed his arms and he started to pace back and forth, thinking of the situation.

"Where is Agnus? Bring him to me now. Make haste." He motioned with his fingers.

"Yes, Your Holiness." Credo bowed and left immediately.

Walking out the cathedral doors, he strode uncomfortably through the square. Out the gates he went, on a mission. His walk was determined, formal.

"What's the hurry?" A man of the order pestered, following behind.

He'd been waiting outside to hear of the Master's news.  
It wasn't fair that Credo always received orders directly, there were other devout followers as well.

"Everything's the hurry. Do you think this demon is just going to sit back and let us ride around investigating him?"

"I suppose not. After that massacre, nothing can assure our safety."

* * *

Sanctus placed his hands behind his back, pacing back to his desk. A great swell of air emerged from his lips, his breaths powerful despite his years.

"What did the survivor say about this demon?"

His new visitor's face changed to deep shock.

"He said. . . The demon looked like an angry 'reaper' of souls. He had the pride and aura of a dread lord. He killed them all without showing remorse."

Sanctus smirked.

"So, it's really him. The fearsome Nelo Angelo."

* * *

**In a dark place, the ensouled one remains**

* * *

Vergil woke to the sound of breathing that wasn't his own. It was heaving, like an animal rapidly running about.

He can't think of why; his heart was pounding, mind felt empty.

He listens, still, feeling a vibration. He's moving slowly, his heavy feet creaking against floorboards that were silent for him. Slowly, flashes of Ulmarag returned to him.  
The Cambion jolted awake, the box disintegrating around him. He found himself still in the forest, but not really in the same place. He'd been moved.

There were a number of hooded people surrounding him.

He so hated it when they died too soon, but he had to punish them. They were dirty arrogance. They dared to take his brother away and practice dark magics that weren't their's.  
In his mind he knew it was his right to bear arms against them, their light escaping from his tormented hold so many times already. A good life wasn't measured by any biblical span.  
Should they try to speak to him, he would slice them. If they tried and fought back, he would slice deeper. That cold look reflected on his face, giving the only survivor serious shudders.  
His hands tightly closed around the freezing surface of the hilt, his Katana at his side.

He seemed to have no sense of heart, as if he were stone.

They ran from him, but he came like the black plague. No matter where they went, he was there. Taking heads, piercing hearts, it was all good fun.  
Woe to them, their numbers expired, he just had a duty to fulfill, one they could never comprehend. He stood laughing, blood salting the soil.  
He'd make good on his promise, or so these hypocrites would soon learn. Life is a terrible thing to waste, but what good is it when all they do is vicarious?  
It was a favor from the damned, they requested death. He simply heeded their call.

Limb after limb, body after body. . . Soon the forest desecrated, his captors all mince meat.

But for what are we born if not to aid one another? He'd brutally killed all these people who wanted to arrest him, to steal from him the life he was intent to live.  
They would never forget the evil glint in his beady eyes. The murderer had smelt of blood. Of danger.

Of wolf and man.

"What have you done to us?" The man asked, "What are you?"

He was an adolescent, no older than nineteen or twenty. He sat with his back to a tree trunk, left leg missing. His pinky and ring finger's cauterized nubs, he sat in anguish as the silver slayer came.

Vergil smirked, his eyes insane. The beauty of his annihilation pleased his darkest, most hateful desires.

"Oh, I see the benign damage I caused you all, and it's nothing but a satisfying sight. You all will pay, I will see to it. Death is but a fraction, my friend, of the misery you will feel."

And it was the last words the young man heard, before his own death.

Vergil stopped to think this through, their bodies lay like ghoulish mannequins, the esophagus and arteries sticking out, like corrugated, rubber tubing

The term 'murderer' was now reserved for psychopaths, and he flew on a stream of blood-red death. If the killing was done for means of survival, no one could think less of you.  
There were those that took life and crumpled under the weight of guilt, even if they'd no choice. There were some who killed when necessary and never lost a wink of peace of mind over it.  
That was pretty much where he sat, his friend of misery. At least what he thought. . .

He no longer understood what he was anymore.

No, that can't be right. He's a demon, there's nothing more to understand. It's part of his nature.

What would mother think of this?

Should she be involved? She'd brought him into this world, raised him to love, not to demolish. The world was a fine place worth fighting for, and he hated very much to leave it.  
Funny that, in these moments, when shadows so heavily consumed him, his morality had become just like his brother's. In a twisted way, he felt to be better than he was before.  
The mind was a terrible thing to waste, locked in a place he couldn't escape from.

Where is his humanity?

The forest felt dark, the trees looming over the earth like black towers of hate.

Love of life, love of loathing; it all met here.

The dark was not in the sense of the absence of light, but the sinister magic became evident to a strong, overwhelming degree.

And yet, there was peace in its sullen ambience.

He wondered how long these people had been practicing rituals. More importantly; why?

Eyes flickered over the thickets, massive shady tree trunks and vines that rose steadily into the sky. Branches interlocked with neighbors like giant's arms linked together, protecting their home.  
Unity. He'd never felt that with anyone. The trees so densely packed together, it left just enough space to allow someone to maneuver through.

He pressed his palm against its rough bark, and breathed in the scent of the forest.

Beyond his dwelling of death, he felt life.

"What was that. . . !?"

A sound of wailing merged with the whistling of the wind, cutting through the woods. It came close to sounding like a kettle boiling, moving about.

Whatever it was, it was shifting, running with the wind. Even it's scent was strange.

It seemed to streak across the trees in a zigzag pattern towards him. The creature had a black robe, ripped and torn.

It crashed to the ground before him, rising up to stand from it's knees.

A blood-curdling shriek, the piercing scream caused him suffering unlike any other.

He held his ears and felt the blood trickle out.

The entity was a woman. It stood tall and thin, long white hair flowing out of the hood. It's skin was a brown tan, eyes bulging.

"You're late, someone I know already died." He shrugged it off and continued walking, leaving the Banshee behind.

Why in the name of flaming Ifrit that every time he effectively reaches something that could give him answers, give him peace of mind, at last, a pain-in-the-rear demon literally materializes out of nowhere, preventing it!?  
Vergil' face registered an expression of sheer annoyance, blue eyes flashing a strange, fathomless glance at something flying in the sky.

Annoyance did not even begin to cover what he felt. Murderous rage was more like it, under these disgusting circumstances.

Something he is still having a hard time believing.

Silently he cursed his ill fate; wondering what he'd done to be constantly bothered by those from his past.

Flashes of Temen-ni-gru played in his mind.

That must be it, a punishment for his crime.

It's like the whole world wants to stop him. The funny thing is, he just wants Dante back. Screw everything else.

And apparently, he's not allowed to do so. No second chance for him.

The serpent in the sky landed down beside the banshee.

It's mouth opened wide, then folded back like a flower. From its gullet sprouted a woman's torso, clothed in an elegant set of leaves.  
Screaming, the she-viper dove at Vergil. He jumped out of the way, landing casually on a moss-covered arch.

"Hey sweetheart," He snarled, Dante-esque, "I'm seeking something else! Either you give it to me, or I force it out of you. 3 seconds to answer."

"My, aren't you a handsome devil," She replied calmly, ". . . Though you know the deal! I-!"

"Times up."

Vergil galloped forward, the rage of beast pouring through to meet her, Yamato ready like usual.

Echidna floated up, coiled like a spring. She spun and whipped her tail across the scenery. Destroying tree after tree, she cleared away the ground to be a flat pile of crushed lumber.  
He departed the ground, up, up and away, missing her vain attack completely, then kept a descent. Continuing his rush, he hacked at the air faster than light. Little sonic slashes crashed against her.  
They broke apart against her chest, not powerful enough to rip the skin. Damn it!

He was almost in actual range when she retracted into her body.

The dragon head returned, jaws ready. To slay a dragon, he'd immolate himself.

Vergil was able to shift to the side just as it's jettison jaws came chomping, feeling her hot breath as she passed by. Echidna swooped high into the sky, then came roaring back down at Vergil.

He promptly rolled out of the way again.

She coiled around, snaking for another pass. Tired of this lame tactic, Vergil sent out aqua blades from the force edge, summoned swords aiming for the creature's head.

And he must have hit a perfect spot, for she suddenly veered, grinding against the ground.

Popping back out from her facade, she stumbled about to kill him.

Before Vergil could attack, she looped in the air, then shot tail first into the ground, burrowing up to her mane.

Seeing her wide open, he charged.

Echidna merely sat there, smiling wickedly, then shifted into a glamorous pose. The ground below him suddenly opened up. Thick, cyprus tendrils shot from the ground.  
The demon must have had the ability to extend them, they seemed to be smaller versions of it's own body. Now, he was surrounded by them, drilling faster and faster as they circled.  
They began to swat down, the dangerous barbs slicing all around him.

Vergil danced furiously to avoid them, how embarrassing. From every direction they came; left, right, above, and all the angles in between, spinning and thrashing wildly.

One thorn-ed blade sliced clean through his shoulder. It seemed to stop him, but he felt odd. The wound healed instantly, it was like nothing to him.

He barely even felt the pain.

Echidna hooted in wild laughter when her scheme landed. Grasping her barb, he crushed it in his right hand, dealing pain up through it's nervous system.  
Next came the barb's disintegration. He bolted straight for the now-very surprised Echidna, goring out a demonic roar. She began to burrow out of her nest, but not before Vergil struck.  
Yamato bit clean through her chest and out her shoulder.

He felt his nerves gathering, and the strength within him stewed. In paltry seconds, he unleashed the Majin form.

His cruelest beliefs, his worst feelings, and all the rage in the world brought to the physical plane.

Vergil braced his feet against her, then yanked up and away, pulling Yamato free and tearing through her flesh at the same time. The katana glistered purple as it vanished and he hovered above.  
Releasing his arms to the side, crimson lances of energy emerge, pulsating a gloomy aura. He charged once more, and burrowed both blades in her chest, all before she knew what was happening.

"You shall die." He spoke, and vanished within the aura. A lavender shadow moved within an unbelievable field of speed, barely visible.

Echidna let out a loud shriek of agony as the demon ripped through her torso, gashing at her from all directions.

He kept tearing away, throwing parts of her all across the ground with his claws. The creature tried to escape, but he pulled it back in, crushing her sinew in his hands right before her eyes.  
It kept happening, more and more she felt parts of her torn free, severed from her core until she was barely alive. Raising her limp body high above, Vergil held her face in his hands.

He just stared at her, holding her their for minutes on end.

Virtually none of her tail remained, merely a fetid green stump survived in it's place. Her top half wasn't recognizable by human standards, flesh flayed and limbs missing.

Rain began to fall, soaking the trees and all it's companion-leaves into the earth, pieces of her burying.

Finally, as he gazed into her eyes, he spoke.

"Tell me what I wish. I don't want your easy death on my hands yet, share with me what I seek, then you'll have my permission to die."

It was the blackest speech ever uttered, each word containing more malice than the burn of the sun. She squealed, desperate to flee him.

Smiling, he let go it's mangled shape, and so it fled, to become dust again.

She flew into the trees, disappearing from sight. The unnaturally long night continued.

The Majin touched down upon his feet, scanning the tree line for movement.  
It was close, he could sense it. He couldn't see her, but he could hear her ripping apart the foliage as she writhed about. The snake returned at last barely alive.

Vergil came forward, still triggered, "Are you still breathing?"

He slammed his scaled, taloned-foot onto it's face.

He towered above, sadistically watching her for eternity.

"Tell me, what are the pathetic ranks of the Order planning? From where do they conduct their desperations?"

Echidna moaned out in pain.

"It's as I said. . . Your powers are uncanny. It would awaken him."

His foot crushed down even further, grinding her head into the bark-covered soil.

She squirmed for him to release, but it didn't come.

"My patience is running low."

"Dante will form the core, it will awaken Sparda- Urgh! Sparda's power." It managed to finish, despite his compression.

The demon chuckled through sanguinary pain, "More like it would awaken. . . The end of this city, and later, the dominance of humans."

"What!?" The sense of shock he felt was indescribable.

* * *

. . .

* * *

**"No . . . I-it hurts . . ."**

**Vergil turned his back to him and lifted his small torso onto his shoulders. Dante grabbed ahold of his shirt to stay up.**

**"Climb on me, I'll carry you." The child remained stoic in the face of bad fortune, despite the other boy being less** strong willed **, at least for now.**

**He soothed his brother's worry, "We better hurry, mom's gonna be worried."**

**He kept walking as careful as he could, to avoid him falling off.**

**"Vergil?" He heard him whisper.**

**"Yes?" He replied.**

**"You'll always help me when I'm down right?" Dante sincerely wondered.**

**Vergil lightly chuckled, "Of course, I promise. We'll stick together always."**

* * *

. . .

* * *

"Dante will form the core, it will awaken Sparda!" It said again, his foot still planted, "Please let me go! You  _promised!_ "

Vergil clenched his inhuman fists, his own blood dripping from where his fingers punctured the flesh.

"I promised nothing."

It screamed just as he closed the amphibious claws of his daemonic foot together, crushing her head in his grasp like a bird with quarry. From the side, he saw the Banshee in black.  
She'd taken fair form, snow white hair against her smooth tan skin. She walked towards him slowly, a serious-minded expression on her face.

"Come to join allies in death? How noble." He said as he raised his hand, preparing to release a blast of pure scarlet wrath.

But she surprised him in her response.

"If this is what the Order wishes us to fight, then I have no interest. They operate in the eastern quarter of Fortuna." She told him.

If he could raise an eyebrow, he would. His granite pupils stared out, silent.

"You'll find them across an overpass called the Gran Album Bridge."

"What else do you bring?" He questioned.

"Unless you require service of a carnal nature, I am of no more use."

Her form had become exquisite, unlike any he'd seen. But now was not the time for distractions, so he shook his head.  
She nodded back, and so vanished into thin air. His gratitude to her was as a moment of silence. The remains of Echidna evaporated as rain, turned snow, fell in the new plain.  
Ascending high in the air, opening his wings, he departed for the bridge. Above, the powder gently collected against his wings. One thing was left on his mind.

Back toward the main meat of the place, the city of Fortuna.

Finally, after minutes on end, he found the only major bridge in town. It was a long forgotten structure.

The path to the temple was open. He could see the Gran Album Bridge, the one so fabled by his strange Banshee. It spanned a hundred meters out to sea and to the base of this Order.

He flew down to the beginning of the viaduct.

It was to absorb the sights as they were, untouched by greed.

The Gran Album Bridge was truly a major feat of architecture. The long, narrow crossway had high struts of Gothic design that shot far into the air at regular intervals.  
It was so thin that only three people could walk abreast at one time, a technique used in olden days for defense. Many a legend could be explained by this, such as one man versus many.  
At the end of it was the Order of the Sword's headquarters.  
Unlike the bridge he traversed, it was just a massive rectangle of white stones, with a few windows dotting the front. A long staircase rose from the end of the bridge to the front of the structure.

At the top was a wide, circular platform, which acted basically as a doormat.

Halfway across the plinth, he arrived.

The construct stunk of pretension, a disease he would eliminate. He growled one more time before he ran forward.

He blasted the entrance doors off their hinges, though it seemed like a dream, he had seen a vast sarcophagus made of what looked like granite.  
As he'd approached it, it had begun to glow, but with a light that was welcoming. He touched it's lid, and it had opened as if it were light as a feather.  
From it, an all-encompassing golden light glowed, and from within that glow arose a figure whose features Vergil could not make out. He knew he was looking at a shadow of a man.

Of unnatural stature, it wore a helmet and an armor of some kind, ancient. It possessed a lance, impractically long.

The corona surrounding left him with what would be blinded eyes to see.

There was a noise like glass breaking in the distance, or the sound a falling star might make—it was laughter of something demonic.

"I don't understand!" He charged forward and attacked, with a simple swoop from his astral shank, the beings turned to ash.

'The smell! Father!?' He frantically thought.

Vergil trounced around, breaking down colossal doors and destroying objects of holy worship. Then, he ground to a halt, finding himself in the open air of the outdoors again.  
What he saw now was something he'd never dreamt of. Who would have thought this Island hold something like this.

A great, circular hall rose up to the sky in a column. Endless cloisters spanned up at methodical interims.  
Everywhere he looked was gray stone, built in elegant arches and columns, like an ancient temple.

In the center of the cylinder was what appeared to be a massive thing, looking like a mummified creature. The height and width for it was a little too abnormal to be believed.

"Is it not beautiful?"

Vergil looked up and saw a figure suddenly standing on the balcony.

His sharpened teeth grit themselves, and he launched himself, wings agape, charging at this false prophet.

The sounds he made engulfed Sanctus, completely capturing his brain, rendering any logical thought or conclusion impossible.  
He began to hyperventilate, from this unexpected, unimaginable horror, he wanted to run, but the image of this beast charging at him made his chest hurt.

Nauseated, the old man swayed back.

Vergil almost reached him, his savage fury getting oh-so close.

Something stopped him.

He felt pushed back, something rose from the mummified entity, standing in his way.

It was unmistakably Dante.

Vergil faltered, trying to avoid striking the body and causing him any harm. A demonic fist reached out and snatched him out of the air, holding his leg in an electrifying grip.  
His hold over the form ceased, and his body weakened, the familiar grasp draining him of his power. The ascension slipped from his clutch, and lo he returned to his human visage.  
The dark slayer slammed roughly against the wall and felt his back break. A devastating fall from so far above made things even worse.

Ulmarag opened his wings high, blocking Sanctus beside the body of his brother, the two emerged.

"Is it not your wish to become one with your brother once more, boy?" Umarag addressed him. "Dante has been waiting for you, for a long time now.  
Within this, your bodies will combine just as you two were in mother's womb, melting into one, to manifest and awaken their god. . . And then He will return at last.  
He will be free and everything will return as it used to be in this world."

Ulmarag leapt down, hovering a few meters above the stone before slowly touching down.

He held Dante's body by the neck, suspended by invisible puppet strings. He relinquished the hold, placing the body back into it's casket.

Standing on the curving walkway, beside the savior, beside his brother, and with Sanctus watching for sick amusement, Ulmarag pointed to Vergil, taunting him.

"Forever failure, you'll be doomed to an existence of nothingness, while we all reign once more." He said to the regressed hybrid.

From mountain high, a black laughter emerged, Sanctus enjoying this gladiator battle as he had commanded.  
The daemon of nightmares joined in, the two mocking their easily-tricked foe. Do as he were told, then they might let him out of his cage.

Rising calm, the remaining twin locked eyes with his old foe.

"Hush, now." He said, and the laughter suddenly stopped, both dismayed at his calm, "You haven't let me join in on the fun."

He arose with a casual demeanor, and a sarcastic glare.  
'Dante' had gotten up intent on ruining their day, and for a moment he'd succeeded.

"I had an inheritance from my father, it was the moon and the sun. And though I roam all over the world, the spending of it's never done."

At this, the pale rider didn't waste one second, rushing to meet Ulmarag.

He quickly drew Yamato, and the two commenced their clash.

* * *

Thank **you for reading this, I hope you enjoyed it.**


	15. I Disappear

In the corner of the gloomy office, Modeus waited, again calling upon the young one to return and tell him what he sought. He drank enough to rival Dante, though both could never get buzzed.  
At the bar he sat for her there, and ran an interested eye through the cozy, gothic space. The furniture, the feel of the whole studio reminded him fondly of Sparda's taste a bit, with some deviations.  
It brought back so many memories, much more than he could say. They were the best of times, they were the worst of times. . . Funny the way things turned out, he never foresaw any of it.  
The Priestess  _wasn't supposed to have any offspring._  But, somehow. . . A child appeared to carry on this tragic legacy.

He wondered what Baul would feel if he didn't realize what was to come already. Hopefully, he's wrong, just paranoid.

Laying down the paper, given to him by Lady, he glanced out the stained window. Slowly, the place was getting empty.  
He remembered that time, the way things were. Out from the old day's mists, images rekindled, though their luster faded.

Charlotte's long hair braided, wearing her favorite black satin skirt, with the beaded robe acting as an unconventional top, with fringes.

"I must say, you're one of the most amusing individuals I've ever 'the pleasure to know." He told her, sounding older than his face let on.

"Ahehe, who could've imagined? A demon complimented me." She laughed, just as she would laugh, the most gentle sound.

Unfettered by time, the persona, at it's core, was just the same as those days long gone.

* * *

. . .

He always believed devils weren't the same when it came to human emotions. But he realized, he was absolutely wrong.

He'd just realized it too late.

Charlotte already married someone. He'd give up everything to turn back time, and have another chance. But it's over, he wasn't blessed like Sparda. His darkest secret no one knew about.  
Meeting her descendant awakened certain memories he buried a long time ago. The ideas didn't sit well with him, this was another person entirely, she didn't even have a concept of  _her._

Focusing back to the task ahead, he searched his mind for all that he knew of the wolves.

From several witnesses to the herds of animals found dead in mysterious piles, those who survived their encounters described the same thing.

Large two headed beasts.

The unfortunate fact was that the remaining son of Sparda left to Fortuna in the case of a robbery, and the other one had died long ago.

According to Lady, Vergil, the eldest, sought to reactivate Temen-Ni-Gru, raising hell for the sake of an old sword; their Father's true power.  
If only he was there, he could've put a stop to that lunacy, without loss. Still a debt can be payed to the remaining Sparda, he could make things right.

Then came the first bold statement. The Order of The Sword were trying to break the fabric of death, freeing a weight that should not be lifted. All for what?  
To make names for themselves among the living. Such arrogance, the single notion that Sparda could even be brought back. He was long gone, worn away by age unfortunately.  
Even a being as mighty as he couldn't best Father Time, everything stops existing at some point. Sparda was just old, though Modeus wondered what was left of him, after so long.  
Disgusted by the notion, he sat stewing for a time, not wanting to acknowledge what The Order had planned. . . Pious fools. . .

He did ponder on it, though. Perhaps he should visit the city. If not to stop this plot, then at least to see how much time had changed it's hallowed walls.

* * *

. . .

* * *

Lady entered the office at last, "Sorry I'm late."

"It's quite all right." He replied in his usual manner, "What did you figure?"

Lady took a seat next to him. This close proximity made him feel somewhat uncomfortable. He didn't know if he could control himself, should she grow nearer to him.  
Whatever demonic grace he held could be overpowered by a strong enough impulse, it took all that he had to maintain this tranquility, to not be like his brother. . .

What was the name? The signature was rather difficult to read.

Lady spoke impatient: "Well nothing really makes sense. I found this message from someone named 'Saint Dicks. . .' Or something like that."

Modeus put his fingers to his head, and sighed in exasperation at her immaturity.

"Haah. . . Do you mean  _Sanctus_?" He asked flatly.

"How do you know that?" She asked him.

"There are somethings I know inherently, Fortuna speaks to me. He's someone important, I know this for certain. He's been there for a long time."

The man felt uncomfortable, as his subtle relation with the city left him feeling like one of those old coots whom were too invested or afraid that they would fail to act, despite being charged with this duty.  
He couldn't tolerate this dynamic, feeling it picked on his every moral. How was he, someone indebted to Sparda, unable to stop Vergil from his path? He'd failed in his duties.  
Perhaps that's what this was. It was some sort of elaborate punishment against him, resolving to destroy his every thread of sanity in return for the failure to save Sparda's children; his legacy.  
This was consequence's nature, picking away at the host with guilt till they went insane from the pain they surely were familiar with.

He knew he was headed for the bottom at this rate, the bleeding on his soul making his stomach knot.

It's not like he missed it on purpose, he was growing old. People his age needed rest to remain, lest he fade to black.

"You're not wrong," She commented, "I didn't get much on the Order, but this Saint Dicks is most definitely the guy in charge."

" _Sanctus._  So, do you think this Order is behind the appearance of the wolves?"

"I honestly don't know, but. . . Yeah, probably. Dante only went there to get back what was stolen, unless. . ."

She let her mind run back over the people downtown. She had been there and most people knew her, or knew of her.

There had been that nice middle-aged woman - Mrs. Johnson. She told her about the men of the order she saw, wandering around. White hoods and brown cloaks; creepy cult stuff for sure.  
They were skulking around, wearing metal masks that looked like they belonged on old knights from fairy tails. Then there was Dr. Holbrook. He was a local medicine man, had a small practice off Hovley.  
He said he'd seen them acting shifty, spelunking about harassing other people who got in their way; unfriendly guys. After a while, just before they disappeared, he saw them carrying a big duffle bag.  
It was human-sized, in fact it was large enough to house a sizable animal, almost a lion or tiger. This was backed up by Mr. McMahon, a retiree who said he saw them carrying a dirt-covered body-bag.  
So it was definitely down to a crooked science, these guys were incompetent at not being seen. Thankfully, she was able to discern their theft with ease, though the connections to a body were. . .

Unnerving. If they'd stolen from Dante. . . What had they taken?

Did he have some _thing_  buried in his backyard? Or was it just a huge collection of his weapons, maybe some familial artifacts or something?

She had no way to know, but the entire city certainly noticed it's strange intruders.

And, a day after all that, she heard howling rumors spread about werewolves.

Many locals had retreated to their homes earlier than usual on this particular street, the recent spooks making parents nervous. It was like Grimm folk tale, wolves attacking children wandering after dark.  
This was strange too, demons typically lie low, surely those who followed Sparda would be smart enough to be subtle, inconspicuous. Things were ramping up, and far sooner than she wanted.

Both sat in Dante's abode, drinking coffee of different styles. Hers was a cappuccino, his was a sweetened cup of good ol' fashioned brew.

They hadn't spoken aloud for a few minutes now, the memory of Sparda and his offspring affecting their sociability even more.

"I think we should meet up with Dante." Modeus broke the silence, "Perhaps we would find the answer with him. If he's already in Fortuna, it would serve our time well for this mystery."

"Good thinking, lets leave today. I'm sure he's fine, but we need to get there as fast as we can if we want answers." She replied and took a breath.

Things were moving fast, at least. Time often stood still in moments like this, making it a great place to contemplate dark thoughts.  
It was time to leave, time to hit the road for that grand old reason; answers. There was always something they never knew the answer to, whether it be her and Dante, or this new friend.  
Truth be told, she enjoyed the newcomer, his aura was calming even though she didn't trust him as far as she could throw a truck. Her serious demeanor betrayed her growing friendliness.  
It was late in the day now, the sun was still there, blistering down despite it being winter. Making sure they both knew how they would get to Fortuna, she prepped her things.

Every gun she could think of, she packed away on some part of her body, using blessed ammunition.

Though incomparable to Dante's own firearms, the use of Holy Water-soaked bullets would be useful in combating fiends from the dark.

Lady walked out the front door, ready to depart for the city. It was dark out, they'd spent all night gathering more intelligence.

Modeus would seek a different route, claiming he had other business to take care of, whatever that may be. She would be going by boat, the town located somewhat off the beaten path.  
Her motorcycle was parked by the edge of the sidewalk, out in front of the change meter she never used. The wide square where they'd fought her father. . . Still brought black feelings to her chest.  
She'd done up her green jacket over a white blouse, with brown gloves over her strong hands. Her black short-shorts went well with this color scheme, decked out with ammo packs and other tools.  
Her hazel biker boots clicked against the sidewalk, and the amazonian slung her huge cannon over her back, lugging her other bags towards the vehicle.

It was a sizable cycle, big enough for a person like herself certainly, even allowing room for all her equipment to be strapped in.

When she reached her bike, a silhouette nearby stopped her.

The figure was small, minuscule by comparison to the towering blades of power that made up this city's skyline. She looked foreign, not really belonging in a bleak world like this.

Was it real? The figure looked almost creepy, standing there in shadow, watching her intently. She tensed slightly, unsure to trust the stranger.

"Excuse me! Lady?" A child spoke to her, and a blonde stepped from the dark, her braided hair hidden by a brown cap

They'd only really been together briefly, but Lady remembered her. She was that girl in Dante's care, taken some other place the day they'd fallen out, that much she could tell.  
What was her name. . . Paris? Penny? Patty, that's right! Patty. Well, good to know Dante had done a good job taking care of her, or else she would've marched on the slayer's neck for that one.  
What was she doing here? The sight of something so innocent seemed out of place.

"Patty, right?" Lady's face softened, her trepidation evaporated. She wondered why the kid would seek her now.

"How do you know?" The girl cocked her head to the side, raising her left eyebrow, "Am I a celebrity or something?"

Lady smiled at her, "Uh-Hum, You uh-. . . Am I that forgettable? We've already met. I came by when you couldn't get Dante to wake up, remember?"

Patty's face brightened with surprise, and the fringe fell back into place over those eyes, sparking the memory to light.

"Oh! Yes! Yeah, wow. . . I'm sorry I didn't recognize you!" She nervously corrected herself, embarrassed.

Her cheeks lit up like a christmas tree, and Lady couldn't help but smile. The little thing was so cute, it was hard to believe being around her hadn't changed Dante in some way.

"It's okay, what's up? Are you looking for Dante?" She asked, intent to followup with the lowdown.

Patty's face abruptly shifted to sadness.

"Do you know where he is? Please, can you tell me? I've been trying to reach him for days now, but he just seems to have disappeared." Patty said, trying her hardest to stand tall and be tough.

But her young voice failed her.

Lady sighed and came to her, placing a motherly hand atop her head, "I'm sorry, he left for a job. I don't think he's coming back today."

The girl's eyes lit up, the most lovable optimism shining through those baby-blues.

"Can you take me to him!? I promise I won't be in the way, I just want another chance to see him."

Lady was taken aback, the small child irrefutably sincere, and impossible to let down without feeling horrible afterwards.

"I-ah-. . . I-I can't, the place where I'm heading is dangerous." She said, trying to let the girl down easy, "I think it'd be a bad idea."

"Oh come on, please? I'll follow your orders I promise!" The girl struck a comical army pose, hand up to salute, "I'll stay out of trouble, ma'am."

Patty had to meet him again, too self-conscious to say the reason out loud to the older woman.

_. . ._

_His eyes showed the kind of gentle concern no one had ever shown her before._

_He laid his hand lightly on her shoulder, and, instead of flinching as he had the first time she met him, she felt soothed by it._

_He left his hand there and spoke, "You can still visit me in the shop, anytime ya want." He spoke, she felt his words reassuring, just by the way he said them.  
Those blue eyes carried frost to anyone else, but not for her. She only ever received kindness from him, and now it was time to say goodbye to that._

_Fear was her superpower. . ._

_. . ._

Lady stared down at the kid, wanting to walk away like nothing happened. But she couldn't say no, that little girl's face desperate with that kind of purity only someone untouched by darkness could yield.  
It's hard to reject that. Looking down at the girl, she made a hard decision, but it was a decision nonetheless. She didn't know how someone hadn't told the little girl of Dante's leaving, Morrison should've.  
She'd need to have a stern talking-to with the handler, his communication lacking in these difficult times.

"Okay. . . Hop on. You can't come with me when we get into the citadel, but you can go as far as when we reach the city. You'll stay in a safe house, deal?"

"Deal!" Patty exclaimed with a chirpy smile, and she jumped on the motorcycle.

The damn thing nearly fell over, the little girl inexperienced with the vehicle despite finding it most awesome.  
Lady grinned to herself, unable to stifle a laugh as Patty struggled to maintain balance. She grabbed hold of the steering and easily straightened it, holding the girl upright.  
Sitting behind the child, she placed her helmet on the young orphan, then revved up the engines. And they were good to go.

* * *

In the middle of the ride, Lady decided to ask.

"Why do ya wanna see Dante? Are you having some trouble?"

Patty didn't answer at first, and it seemed like the helmet was running interference, an eternity of silence went by.

The little girl opened the black glass-plate, and replied.

"I miss him. I wanted to take a walk with him at sunset, visit the park at night, and then go get ice-cream in the morning."

Lady smiled at the fact that the kid loves Dante. He could still be sweet if he wanted to be. That was something at least.

Maybe he wasn't so different now after all.

* * *

Far above the wintry air, the sky birthed black clouds as it had done since December came. The harbor was as grey as a newspaper clipping.  
The sea surrendered her sapphire, the stones showed no russet colors, and the boats had taken on the monochrome look of old black-and-white movies. Even the air tasted more dull, if it was possible.  
The wind whipped salt into their eyelashes and onto exposed skin, all the while the trams ran along the beachside with a clatter and whir. They were near their destination alright.  
An old, coastal fishing town, with beautiful sights and classic architecture. It was a forerunner to Fortuna's supposed old-world charm.

There was an old man watching them.

"Hey Morgan, sorry I'm late." Lady spoke.

The map of wrinkles on his face told of the most incredible journey. His eye-lines told of laughter, of warm smiles and affection. His forehead told of worries-past and worries-present.  
But mostly, they were so deeply engrained, that they told of a man who had travelled through eight decades to that moment; just to stand here. As an old man, beaten and forlorn.  
To be dismissed as 'old' when he was so much more than the sum of his parts was a crime against humanity.

"No problem, I'm glad to sail anytime, anywhere."

He was kindly, inviting them in a certain warmth only a grandfather could have.

The two girls jumped over the railing, to the deck of the small vessel, and waited for him to prepare the ship for take off.  
The ocean before them laid a short path, Fortuna wasn't very far from mainland, to the point it was just considered as part of the land itself. There were a few bridges connecting it, but they were down.  
Bad weather had ruined them, making access by land improbable. So, the next best thing was a boat ride. There was a certain allure to this old craft, the fresh spray of the water filling them with ease.

"Well, settle in, it may take an hour or two to get past all these sand islands. The port's on the other side facing the ocean-proper." Sad but true, this inconvenience.

Still, they didn't mind it so much.

"Do you have stories to tell, then?" Patty asked.

Morgan finished prepping the sail rig, and went for the bow.

"As a matter of fact, little lady, how about I tell you of an adventure I had four years ago? That should kill time for us to get there, the sun'll rise just as we reach her shores."

He was like an old pirate. Well, cleaner and far better-mannered than any historical ones, so maybe that's not the best analogy.

An old navy-man, yes that suits him better.

The girl agreed to his offer, sitting wide-eyed, while Lady crossed her legs and gazed out to the swirling views. Wind rustled her hair, and she closed her eyes.

"I'm listening. . ." Replied the young Lowell.

An hour went by, and Patty began to fall asleep on the wide chair inside, opposite of the bow. The old man had finished his story, entertaining them with his kid-friendly humor and experienced pacing.

The boat rolled left and right, like a leaf on a windy day. Torrents of rain came down with enough force to sting flesh, thankfully Morgan had worn his raincoat.  
Substandard weather just made it all the more difficult to see and assess their quarry. The rumbling thunder, and flashing lightning certainly didn't help Lady's nerves much.  
'Just made her all the more uneasy. Deep down, she could feel that something was incredibly amiss. Where they were heading towards felt twisted, and she didn't like that.

She didn't like it one, single bit.

The mercenary sat behind the captain, with her pistol in her left hand.

Lady just sat, staring blankly at it.

She pressed the trigger several times, knowing full well the safety was on. The gun resisted her of course, yet she kept on pressing. It relaxed her in a weird way, like one of those wood-grip stress toys.

Early morning hour, and the boat docked at Fortuna's harbor, lonely just like a cloud. A trapdoor of depressive stain of mind, the entire marina was barren.

Patty looked through the window, a bit surprised.

"Uh, are islands supposed to look weird like this?" She wondered loudly.

"I don't know what to say lass. First time I've seen an empty harbor as abandoned as this." Morgan commented.

Lady stood outside, observing the deserted place. Indeed, there was a bizarre aura dominating it. No one was here, the entire market looked halfway closed, and halfway still open.  
Something had driven these people away, made them flee in a hurry. What could it have been? Probably something demonic. This wasn't a good start.

Something vibrated around her neck.

Tugging, she ripped it off and looked. Charlotte's necklace was shining, glowing white for some reason.

"Patty?" She called to her, the little girl stuck her head out of the captain's quarters.

"Yes?"

"Stay here with Morgan, I'll bring Dante when I can find him."

"Okay." She shouted back playfully.

Even though deep down she wanted to find Dante herself, she would respect Lady's concerns.

Still, it's no fun at all waiting anxiously here.

In the half-light of dawn, the street was eerie. It wasn't just that it was a still day; the air simply didn't move. The leafy avenue was bereft of noise, as if every murmur and rustle was stolen away.  
The sky was empty, not just of birds, but of clouds also. There was no weather at all here; even the sunlight felt cold. Where had the life gone? The city's vitality seemed just outright sapped.  
Lady was about to continue onward, when from the distance came a series of tinny clangs. It was like the sound of an old can bouncing down the road after a wedding car, but without the engine rumbling.  
Or the hiss of tires on wet asphalt. It grew louder, then softer, then louder again. At first it appeared to come from in front of her, then from behind.

In only brief moments, the noise came from every direction, getting closer, growing louder, more frantic. . .

The four horsemen came, and sat astride their black steeds, amidst the street in blackened armor. Blood stained their Nightmare's flamed hooves, and echoes of screams followed their every step.  
It was the closest thing such demons can come to happiness. With steel, onyx and spiked, they carried news of their deeds on smiling skulls of death, glowing a ghoulish green from their fiery eyes.  
There was a whole city to kill and nothing to stop them.

War.

To her surprise, the sound she heard before was a number of bodies dragged along the bricks behind them, tied to their otherworldly horses.

What the hell happened here?

Before she could defend herself, a sound rattled the place, shaking the very ground as much as the buildings.

"Veni fructum Durga." She heard a familiar tone.

A black fog engulfed the ground, and in the middle of it arose yet another daemon, whom looked like a human visage wise, but it's skin was dark pink, and it's other features orcish.  
Four horns emerged from it's face, two of them pointing downward from the sides of it's pointed chin, and the others stuck right up, looking much more elongated. They curved back, like true devil horns.  
It seemed he had no eyes, a metal guard screwed in over both it's peepers, much like the shop doors to the sides. It's mouth was a perennially smiling suite of fangs, crooked and sharp.

The new creature screeched a sound horrid enough to make her cover her ears out of pain.

"Walk away, young one." She heard the familiar voice of Modeus call out to her.

She didn't need to here it twice and she took off running down an alley, deeper into the 'holy' city.

The Horsemen blistered the earth, terminating as one. They launched after the Lady, Modeus himself taking demonic form as an armor, one-headed Wolf himself.

They rode across the city roofs, opposition of her escape coming as an agitated mutilation of physics. True death of life surrounded her, bodies hung by their necks in the streets.

She ran as fast she could, her athletic build making her surprisingly fast by comparison to her grim friends. Bursting through alley after alley, the city's Venice-type layout made her cranky.  
Smoldering decay took her breath away, the stench of murder nevermore, the four continuing their dance of the dead, whipping across the broken bricks across the town.  
Winter they sent after her, the frigid chill returning, never mending itself back to the lifeless feel of the harbor. The chase continued, killing what might have been as they went.

Fire, then a blackened burst of psychic fury destroyed an archway above her, sealing off the path behind as Modeus swooped down to face off against the four devils.

All was said and done, no love lost as their battle commenced, the female mercenary continuing her pace off into the distance.

She couldn't be careful, the horsemen may come for her still, throwing her name into obscurity when they would catch her.

She rooted for her devilish friend, the trustworthy Modeus making his stand against the wailing danse macabre behind.

A new area of the city, this time a town square, though there were many like it already. She darted through, taking little time to decide her direction.  
From the gloomy darkness lurked random demons, lesser than those she'd evaded before. Lady could take care of these ones herself but she had to keep herself moving too.

Like a light-footed deer, Lady grasped her bazooka, then launched it's blade like a pole-arm, stabbing Kalina Ann into the face of a wandering scarecrow. It stumbled a few feet away, turning to ash.  
She wouldn't give it the satisfaction of seeing her. Then, she took out her Uzi. One of her favorites, she held Kalina back to her side as she sprinted forward into infested walkways.  
Bullets flew out the chamber and across the air elegantly, the shell aimed for the target beyond. As it pushed itself on, with great speed, it gained in proximity, rocketing close by to it's victim.  
Hanging for a moment as the adrenaline catalyzed, it struck all her obstacles, and all of her struggle prevailed.

When the being of sin and disgrace trifled with her progress, they'd receive a shot in the head, courtesy of Lady.

All the scarecrows torn to shreds, the ghasts blown to smithereens, and the reapers sown shut. For a human, she wreaked more havoc than any demon ever could.

Further and further she pushed her way through, all this attention stripping her of inhibition.

Once silence governed, Lady finally took a moment to breath and relax. And then, something struck so loud, the noise was countless magnitudes louder than any piddly thunder.  
The roar was at an intensity she'd never experienced before. The buildings around her were shaken like a doll houses. Glass shattered. She could here the sound of people panicking inside their houses.  
So, there were  _some_  people still alive. . . Admittedly not a pressing issue at the moment, but still.

And just like that, it stopped with a rolling clap.

"What the-!?" She shouted. Sparda's statue stood before her. Right behind the building she could see a dark cloud, a sinister smoke of some kind, rising.

It seems to be coming from within the forest and a mountain nearby.

Lady traversed all the paths, trying to reach the black smoke tainting the sky. Her road led her to a snowy place. . . It seemed closer to the smoke.

She took a moment, absorbing the environment. It wouldn't be any use to just run down the first path she saw. Walking across the snow-covered, stone platform, the rock began to shift.  
A watchtower to her left trembled, slowly collapsing, striking the base of the platform she stood upon. It overlooked a view of the ocean and the mountainside, now obscured by pressuring stone.

Lady ducked under debris as the monument splintered.

The platform began to slide down the mountain, racing down the cliff with her scrambling amongst the wreckage.

Holding steadfast, she clung to the flat surface as much as possible, the speed growing more and more as the fall continued to grow and grow.  
Towards the bottom of the slope, a host of pillars blocked her way, the gold and concrete ground beyond them leading to the under-carriage of a bridge that led further out to sea.  
Time for a leap of faith.

Stepping to her feet, she managed to stand on the diagonal platform, using the knifed edge of her missile-launcher to gain footing as she manned a jump.

Timing was key.

Just as the runaway ground collided with the columns, she flung herself forward, using Kalina Ann's positioning as a slingshot for herself against the kinetic raceway.  
Turning, she fired off one round from the weapon, and the explosion shot her higher, blasting her much farther than the edge of the small, circular stage. Airborne, she took to the next closest thing.  
The Gran Album Bridge. She managed to just barely clear the edge, landing on her feet, and stumbling forward into one of the supports. It broke her momentum hard, she barely survived somehow.  
Pain radiated out to her knees, and she barely kept her balance. Stumbling back after the collision, she felt her arms ache from having guarded against the stone construct.

Behind her, the ruined platform slid off into the ocean, crashing into the Adam's ale with a deafening noise, unleashing a massive wave that enveloped the whole walkway.

The winter turned the seas frigid, in a mass of ice water, she froze on the spot.

She yelped, grabbing her elbows to try and keep warm as it rocked her back into the stone pillar.

"Gah!"

She was left soaked, her mascara running, and absolutely chilled to the bone.

"S-So much for. . . A v-vacation." She managed to quip through tremors.

* * *

**. . . With evil unbound, they make their stand against one another, the dark slayer exhausted but valiant**

* * *

Sanctus launched a stream of lightning from his hands, intent to electrify Vergil. It struck the ground, spreading across it like an ocean.

Vergil leaped off just in time.  
He twisted backward mid-air. Yamato sparked purple as the katana sliced the shield around the old man once again shattering it almost. He landed at the old man's podium, intent to talk back. He yelled bestial, the strikes feeling brutish.  
Each time, Sanctus pulled back, closing the shield up again as the man broke through it, but never managed to reach him. Behind the profit landed Ulmarag, taunting.

Dropping to the ground, Vergil put the blade back in its home: "Get out of my way," he snarled.

Releasing it forth, he sent out a judgment cut.

The shield around the old man shattered and dissolved, and the old man began to fall to the ground in a complete shock.

Pushing off his feet, Vergil bolted forward in a blur and caught the bastard with a gauntleted fist. Time for Ifrit to play.

"Beg for help from your false god," He growled as they landed down in the floor, "Because you're gonna need it!"

Vergil flipped backward, and pile-drove him into the ground headfirst, with all of his bitter strength. The old man's body cracked on collision, leaving him dazed and confused.  
Inhumanly keeling back up to his feet, the slayer brought him up by his robe and sent a punch to the old man's gut. A shockwave and saliva burst out, Sanctus grunting like an old and decaying motor.  
It was followed by another, the shockwave bigger this time. He began to strike him again and again, assaulting him with blows from both fists. The rage poured out from his eyes.  
Dealing bone-breaker after bone-breaker, he inflicted a slew of fire-laced punches that fragmenting about every bone in Sanctus's ribs, releasing every torment he was made to endure as retribution.  
The machine gun of blows kept going till Vergil thought the old man had had enough, it was time to 'release' him from this suffering.

The savage beating stopped for a moment, Sanctus robes covered in blood, and the old man believing mercy befell him.

"You shall  _die_." Vergil scorned his optimism, and gave him one last welt that shattered glass, pushing back an encroaching Ulmarag with the unmitigated winds of hatred.

Sanctus shot back off his feet, careening off the balcony and down far below into the bottom of the hall surrounding the savior.

He exhaled hoarsely as he stared down Ulmarag, watching him slowly approach, nodding his smug face in approval of Vergil's malice.

"No doubt about it. You're ready for the awakening, aren't you, boy?"

"You've crossed me for the last time," Vergil replied.

"Cliched words for a historic occasion. I'll miss your simplicity." The demon admitted to him, smoothly baritone as always.

"I want to know. . . Has someone like yourself ever felt fear?" Vergil suddenly changed the subject.

"I deal in terror, boy, I do not receive it."

"Ahehehe. . ." 'Dante' began laughing, a psychotic look gloaming from his eyes, "I have such experiences to show you!"

He raged forward, furiously pounding his fists at the Sandman, their powers colliding in a crimson ball of fire. Ulmarag threw a coiled swipe, knocking Vergil's legs to his side.  
Mid-descent, the slayer punched the ground, righting himself with sheer momentum, and flew above an intended knee to his ribs, the attack jutting past him.  
Disappearing in a blur of black lines, he re-emerged in the same spot standing straight, with a heel to Ulmarag's temple, breaking open the skin. It knocked the dream-master to his right a few feet.  
He staggered forth as another punch met his ripped stomach, a burst of flames scorching his scar tissue. Grabbing hold of Vergil's forearm, the creature flung him around.  
It threw him to the ground in a slam, and then stomped down on his side.

His insides roiled, flushing through him searing spleen.

Vergil took the kick in stride, followed by another. He heard a crack and realized one of his ribs had snapped in half. No matter, he was far above this pain.

Responding, he shoved the tail-end of his cleated-boot into the demon's groin, forcing him to let go.

It screamed at him, his fury from a low blow translating into a haymaker, though it was matched with a block as the acidic fellow darted to his feet.  
Vergil unleashed a wave of flame with a baited swing, the hellfire burning Ulmarag's marked flesh darker shades.

Out from the inferno came the demon's silver-clawed hands, the metallic armor lining only his fingers belying the coils wrapped around his bloody knuckles.

The armored hand grabbed the man's face and dragged him forward. The beast let out a masculine roar into Vergil's ears as it cuffed the side of his head with it's other fist.  
He stumbled back sanguinary. He couldn't break everything that reminded him of the past, he couldn't know to stop following this ideal.  
The demon delivered a shockingly-fast brevity of strikes that caught the man off-guard, mirroring his assault on Sanctus slightly as it delivered an uppercut that sent the slayer flying.

The fight went airborne as the Demon spread his wings and soared after him, catching the boy, once so young, back in it's own element now.

With the pinions of a Raven, it launched feather's like daggers, pursuing the man's body with impaled furor. Claws struck like talons crushing heads, and it bulldozed him further up.

He felt it dig it's steely claws into his back, entrapping him in a back-breaking hold, and the Slayer reacted vehemently.

Grasping the demon's right shoulder with his left fist, he seared it's brawn without a thought.

It shrieked as he broke his right arm free from it's bearhug, and smashed Ulmarag's face with the cestus, bashing the metal wildly against the horned-savage's mug.  
The monster would not release, instead digging it's claws deeper still. Finally clasping it's face with his right hand, he charged and released a catastrophic burn.  
Charring the monster with a brilliant solar pulse, the two separated at last. Blood trails spewed from his back as he ricocheted away, the nails having been torn out by force.  
They scraped out his back and left him reeling as both sides felt raw to the touch. A warm fluid covered his back, the blood blending easily with his jacket as it trickled out his back.  
But the beast wouldn't let him be, roaring back in a furious onslaught. It played pinball with him, refusing to let the burns stifle it any longer.

This feud would end right here and now.

It knocked him around, blasting him higher and higher, bouncing him off walls and brutalizing his face with metal impact after metal impact.

The strikes left his looks broken, unrecognizable for the time being, and it countered all his hazy recoveries with more fierceness. The slayer tasted iron as the monster knocked him clear across the stage.

He recoiled, flipping abruptly with a small second wind, and his feet touched down against the Savior's leg. It easily stopped his momentum, and gave him enough opportunity to launch back sideways.  
The slayer plunged his fist vertical, up from his perspective, and tried for a comeback as his old foe raced forward. Their knuckles collided in a blazing purity that shook the halls of this old monastery.  
Instantly, the demon surged past him, moving to his back just above, and grabbed the back of the devil hunter's head.

In one, fluid movement, he shoved the man down to the bricks below, his face ultimately crashing into the floor.

A massive wave of dust covered the ground, kicking up from the clamor as the demon pinned Vergil's healing countenance to the ground, putting all the pressure on his forehead as he gripped his left arm.  
He wrenched the boy's limb back, a crunch echoing as he screamed into the ground. When empowered, Ulmarag was vicious, he wanted to make this wretched child pay for their last bout, thoroughly.

He sat there, grinding the man's face into stainless stone, now marred by ichor from their vicious brawl.

He couldn't help but taunt the young man.

"Hahaha! I'm  _so_  afraid of you, son of Sparda. All you are made of is idle threats."

Vergil grunted in pain, his sound muffled by the floor.

"What's that? I can't hear you." He said, and the boy grunted in pain again, blood shooting from his arm.

"Still not getting it." He kept on with it.

Finally, Vergil yelled back.

"I'll make you pay for this!" He screamed out from under the demon's hold.

"Oh dear. . . Your over-developed sense of vengeance is only outdone by your pride. Don't feel bad, your brother had it too, as did your father and his whore." He laughed at this.

The demon was knelt down on one knee, and enjoying the boy's continued suffering.

"Still, I suppose I wished you'd had more than this. Those tacky gauntlets couldn't hope to melt a marshmallow."

The dark slayer tried to reply, but it was too muffled by the ground.

"Don't worry, now or later, it doesn't matter because  _it ends the same_. You'll be rejoined with your brother in death, if not willingly, and Sparda will come again, whatever remains of him."

He was preparing the end. . .  
"I'll miss those anguished cries of yours,  _Vergil_." It growled into his ears.

"Vergil!?" He heard a woman shout.

Ulmarag looked up bewildered, the voice attached to a new playmate.

Right beside them some twenty-odd feet stood Lady, watching.

"What the hell- No. No! This is-  _No!_ " Lady's voice cracked, sounding more desperate and pained than Vergil's muffled howls, " _What the fuck is going on here!?_ Who are you!?"

She screeched it to the heavens, red hot choler staining her cheeks.

Ulmarag soon understood, and he seemed to react with utter delight.

"Oh-ho! She didn't know! What a complete, and utter monster you are." He sneered in the boy's ear.

Appearing beside her in a dash, Sparda's old pupil arrived, dismayed.

"We're too late!" Modeus yelled, "It's back!"

Ulmarag never broke from his work, considering them a nuisance more than a threat. So, instead, he just looked at them both and sighed, "Ah Modeus, it's been a long time."

Modeus pursed his lips slightly.

"Not long enough. I wish I could face you right now."

"What's to stop you, old man? Lack of spine, hmm?" The Sandman mocked. Modeus grit his teeth, his eyes becoming filled with an uncharacteristic rage, yet trepidation held him back.

Lady stepped forward, her distressed face scowling at Vergil.

He'd managed to force his head sideways, staring out by contorting his neck so that his cheek rested on the floor instead.

"You  _are_  Vergil aren't you!? You callous bastard!" She screamed at him, this betrayal beyond anything before it.

Vergil heaved out a blood clot.

He sat there writhing beneath the indomitable master, "Gah, what are you doing here!? This is my fight, alone!"

" _Answer me!_ Who are you!?" Lady screamed again.

Ulmarag mentally dragged Dante's body out from it's coffin, using just enough focus for her to see, "This is Dante, child."

He was something of a necromancer, able to puppet the dead with ease.

Returning the body to it's resting place, the beast gleefully smirked as he stared at her.

"How does this feel? You never knew your friend died, and this mongrel sat there pretending to be him. I think that's the most awful thing I've ever heard."

Lady began hyperventilating, her world crumbling around her. She backed away, her breaths swelling till she could no longer take them in.  
Her mind unable to comprehend the sight and the words she just heard, it all created hatred that churned inside her brain. Darkening in vain, this masquerade revealed as a horrible sham.  
Vergil; that freak who destroyed an entire city for a sword, was masquerading as the man she'd become attached to. The revelation haunted her every memory, tainting them black.  
It all made sense, at the consequence of a small portion of sanity. Grief set in, making her hopeless as she tried to run from the truth.

Once again, a horrifying screech broke through the hall, followed by a tremor of the earth.

Vergil felt a colossal expanse of darkness as the creature behind them awakened and stood forward to close the gap. It hadn't even noticed them, thinking them insignificant bugs.  
It took into itself Dante's body, absorbing his demonic powers after death, and in turn, forming a link to Sparda. The entity hollered to no one in particular, then ascended on a golden buddhist halo.  
The being flew above, destroying the roof with it.

Ulmarag began to laugh, the Savior awakened, and his own ends served. He felt a sudden surge beneath him.

Slowly, Vergil's finger's closed, his knuckles cracking as his eyes began to run crimson. This was it. This was the last straw that broke his back.  
The Order had stolen his brother, mocked his grief, and salted his wounds with pride. Now was the time that he would no longer bear their bullshit.

His breath quickened, his wounds healed.

An ebony spiral of power emerged, and slowly, his head rose, pushing back against Ulmarag's palm. The demon was shocked, and he tried to shove him back down, succeeding for only a moment.  
Vergil rose, his left arm pulling itself back together in his captor's grip. His movements were unbound, flowing freely darkness clear, his Majin prowess burning it's way back to the surface somehow.  
An unearthly growl emanated from his clenched teeth, his face growing animalistic as the veins thickened on his forehead. The aura around him exploded, his arm now fully returned to normal.  
He moved it forward, Ulmarag still clutching the Cambion's forearm, the power bursting out and scorching it's hands.

Ifrit vanished in a bright flash, Vergil's height increasing as his transformation began to take hold. His face grew indescribable, warping into the most inhuman visage of rage ever beheld under the sun.

Finally, with an ear-splitting roar, he filled the skies with a scarlet pillar of light.

Modeus moved himself, covering Lady's ears and taking her from this madness.

Ulmarag's arms broken apart into ions, and his body crashed through countless walls, flying out to sea from the totality of Vergil's explosion. His barbaric bellow raged on, form now faded to black.

Four wings emerged, their bat-like squalor raising him far above this idiotic convention of worship.

. . .

"You're not going anywhere. . . I'll get you for this, I'll make you  _suffer_. . . I'LL GET YOU!" His volume was unmatched as he came after the Savior, tearing through the atmosphere.

Glancing back at him, the being summoned angel-knights, sending them flying after it's black destroyer as it returned it's attention to Fortuna.  
Though they seemed menacing to others, Vergil unleashed a crimson meteor of raw energy, easily ripping through the Savior's artillery. It turned to meet the blast, and met with it's fist.  
A supersonic explosion, and the city was in terror. The Savior stood unharmed, mostly. . . It observed scuff marks on it's knuckles. It's stone face turned to rage as it zeroed in on the slayer.  
The creature drew a meaty blade from it's back to clash with Vergil. He met it with the crimson lances.

A burst of power emerged, ripping apart oxygen as flames cosmically appeared, the sky cracking open with each clash.

They fed off each other, skidding along the firmament. The strength of both were beyond life, but even the Savior was a little too much for him.

He followed up with a four-strike combination, ending in a ruby-hued dimension slash. The Sparda-like creature batted the first four swipes away with a twist of his sword and a rough swipe with it's leg.  
The monolithic attack missed the dark slayer by an inch, but out of nowhere, it counterattacked with a familiar three swing combo.

Dante's style.

He parried the incoming blows, then slashed back, only to strike the blade's edge, it's followup being a guard with the weapon.  
Breaking the clash between Devil's, it let out a massive rush forward, pushing it's opponent far off with one shove, then followed with a ball of energy, clasping both it's hand's together to form a dark void.  
Vergil closed his wings and blocked the barrage. It felt like a planet colliding into his soul. Still, his rage carried him further, dominating all other feelings.

The creature fired again, and again, and again, and again. The sword it used hovered to one side, telepathically linked to it.

Serious explosions came his way, but the slayer bore it all, redirecting the damage to the Order's own buildings all around them. Building's fell, other's broke apart.

Vergil focused on trying to think of a plan, some permanent means to bring it down, at least for a little bit.

The large demon pulled a number of gladius from un-reality, and casually hurtled them forward with a mere thought.

Vergil looked like a smurf to it, striking downwards.  
It was confident that it could match his speed, content to destroy the man with ease.

But in a blur, he evaded the blades coming his way, and just like that, a plume of fire exploded into the blackness surrounding the creature, the flame rolling outwards like the cloud of a warhead.  
It was an inferno, fueled by Sparda's buried strength. The heat was oppressive, even from two hundred yards away. The onlookers thought they were safe, in the distance watching.  
But then, a subtle shift in the wind's direction brought noxious smoke and ash raining down. With hands and clothing clamped to their mouths, they fled the sulfur, seeking a safe haven.

It was chaos as they all tried to leave at once for the harbor, struggling to see through the suffocating fog that coated the street.

Echidna was not exaggerating when she said it would awaken the end of the city, or potentially everything. The creature wasn't just focusing on Fortuna, it had been trying to leave the island altogether.  
False-Sparda launched volley after volley of destructive matter. The air was full of electrically-charged particles, crackling between broken bits of rocks and buildings.  
With a yellow orb of lightning, it blast the devil back, far away from it's orbit as the slayer zipped across the island, almost to the entire other side. Building's floated, the Savior's discharge at fault.  
Vergil saw a path, straight to the massive creature, and saw his wings had been charred off by that last blast. Taking the long way was the only option. He worked his way up, jumping from house to house.  
He hacked his way through wolves, the Savior willing them to appear and serve. A few scarlet slashes was all it took. He closed the distance with each leap, his wings steadily regenerating.

Finally, he reached a floating piece of rubble that was massive, having broken off from a great church in the town's acropolis. A perfect platform.

Arriving here, he cut down numerous creatures it summoned to try and stop him, his might powering through these too. In a massive jump, he launched himself at the creature, intent to destroy.  
Just as he did so, it launched it's massive sword at him, just like it had all the other weapons. Unexpectedly, he flipped his inertia, rolling over sideways like a barrel as the blade passed him by.  
An artful dodge, fueled by unadulterated ire.

There was only one place he wanted to crush, Sparda's center. If he could just cut the abdomen and enter, he could drag Dante out and it would lose it's stolen power.

It didn't know what to do, stifled by his evasion. Reacting belatedly, it tried to bring it's palm down, the goal being to swat him down like a fly.

He suspended his vault, his wings grown back fully, and just narrowly missed it's draining countermeasure. Powering around, he put his aura-blade right through the crystal on it's chest.  
The being jolted back up, grasping it's chest in pain as he bolted rearward with only one flap of his wings, then released a series of judgment cut slashes, cutting deep through it's stone form.  
He brought all his might towards a return punch to it's center crystal, intent to break the orb wide open after having cracked it.

It unleashed a backhand, swinging it's massive arm at him.

The slayer was only able to strike the back of it's wrist, where he shattered it's own opal crystal on contact. Though he was forced back, the false-Sparda had critically wounded itself in the process.

A tactical error it would soon regret. The two floated, engaged in a standstill.

For a moment Vergil was debating his next move. So too was his enemy.

It was like a Mexican standoff, the duo of rage-filled beings diametrical opposites.

Sparda dropped its arms and leaned forward. The golden, incomplete halo ring attached to it's back began to gather massive power at the tip of the two spires, where the circle nearly met.  
The swirl of chi sucked up all the ambient spiritual heat they'd released so far, balling together into a massive orb or ions that began to change the color spectrum as it formed. Everything went orange.  
Pulse after pulse altered what they saw, the humans below not knowing who to root for as the Savior was destroying far more than he was saving. In fact, it seemed malicious to them, were they misled?  
It's spectral vitality began to pool, emerging through as this gigantic blast ready to fire at just the right moment.

That . . . Looks really horrible.

Only one thing to do now, he didn't know if he could do it. Would he even survive? Why did he always ask himself these questions at these times?

Summoning up all he had within him, the very atoms that made up his cellular structure vibrated. They held power, potential energy untapped.

Now was the moment to release all of that, lest he and the world die.

Here it comes

. . .

All of his strength, every single bit of his malice came together, in turn forming a massive wall of vermillion. It flowed like the flames of a star, burning so brightly above the city's glistening eyes.  
And the two powers collided. The blast overwhelmed Vergil, burning past him as it nearly tore his physical form apart. A ruthless bark escaped his lips, the might of his inner-self coming to the forefront.  
He drove through it, forcing all that rushing matter to split around him, his scorching odium stretching beyond his physical means briefly.

Vergil growled, his voice echoing out to the Savior's ears.

"I'm tolling after you, father. . . You will not escape MY WRATH!"

In a solitary moment, it all went white, and Sparda's remade body lurched back, as an unholy eruption blistered through it.

All the city's denizen's stared, never seeing something as bright or as amazing before. Like a comet crashing into an asteroid, the celestial release temporarily blinded everyone.  
Wish he may, wish he might, the end had come, and he'd been left with no fortune or fame, merely a broken shell and hollow in his chest. He tried, at least.

For a time, it all seemed to fade away, as if nothing existed anymore.

* * *

. . .

Vergil felt familiar hands grasp his neck and back, and brotherly arms wrap around him. A soft, benevolent voice whispered in his ear.

"Thank you."

Within a blink of an eye, he vanished, afraid to stop because he couldn't control time.

And in that moment, Vergil knew. . . Dante  _will_  rest in peace, free. His amulet laid on the ground near his head. Vergil had fallen to earth, but someone had made sure he landed without harm.  
Blinking, he cleared his eyes for a moment, and raised up his wounded body from the soil. Moving hurt everything. He looked at Dante's totem, a part of him remaining in the physical world.

He couldn't look at it with anything other than a gloomy smile, his face feeling it had run out of meanings to conjure.

Gently he took it and placed it in his pocket.

He needed to leave this place, enough was enough.

He saw Lady watching him, emerged from the ruins unharmed, a look of sheer shock in her eyes. But it didn't matter, he walked away. . . Back to his house, if it even survived the chaos.

At first there was silence inside. Emotions swirled nonstop in his chest. Each new wave a hot trail of agony as slim, bare shoulders shook in each rake of sentiment through his frame.  
Fire he felt shame and anger, burning just under his skin. Then, a deep emptiness filled his heart as the feelings brewed over and boiled past his seams.

He could no longer hold together.

He didn't know what he was anymore, something was turning him upside down.

Breath hitched in his throat as his knees grew weak and he slumped to the cold floor.

"And here I thought I was incapable of crying." Vergil muttered as he noticed the tear stains on the ground.

The anger he'd used felt expelled, exhausting his every fiber of vibrance. On this day, all of Fortuna had seen him and known that the devil was alive and well.

Lady entered.

. . .

"Why didn't you tell me?" She cried softly, "I deserved to know my friend had-."

She couldn't finish that sentence. She placed her hands on her hips, shedding tears for a man she hadn't even known was gone.  
Still her mind couldn't process the thought. Dante was dead? He was gone, long gone. . . Vergil had been here all along, and she was so stupid she hadn't even noticed.

This explained everything; the personality change, why he was so cold, why he disrespected her past and her name.

The reason he was using the katana and no guns.

"You were lecturing  _me_  about names before. . . But here you are, taking over your brother's identity, running away!" She fired back at him, "You are heartless, always!"

Never mind, that anger gurgled right back, deep in his system, as hot as liquid magma. It stirred within, hungry for destruction, and he knew it was too much for him to handle.

He slowly stood, his muscled back looking ominous as he turned to face her.

"I. Did. Nothing to you." He replied, ready to snap at any moment, "The  _only_  family I ever had in this world died right in my arms, and  _you_  feel betrayed and hurt?"

Warm liquid trickled down his cheeks once again.

From the little time she knew Vergil, she never imagined seeing him broken like this. His words came rushing back at her.

* * *

**_"So what? It's not fair? You expect me to breakdown and cry. I'm not- I don't operate that way."_ **

* * *

She couldn't believe her eyes. Part of her was angry for the hidden truth, she didn't get the chance to grieve, and yet . . .

Another part was horribly sympathetic.

"You have friends, you have people you know. I have nothing, no one to care." He was torn inside, something irrevocably forced to the surface, "Would  _you_ even miss me?"

As he spoke, she walked towards him with a knowing look, his face seemingly ready to kill.

Out of nowhere, her lips brushed against his. Not innocently, like a tease almost, she licked his lips and he followed for a second, unsure what just occurred.

It was fiery, passionate and demanding.

She wanted to pull away before she lost herself, but she couldn't bring herself to it. She was so broken down, busted. She wanted someone to fix her again.  
In this minted moment, her senses were crushed by selfish want, and she could no longer think straight. His tensed nerves soon began to relax, his troubles, his agony began to melt away.  
All he could think was why. Why would she do this with him? He felt he'd hurt her so much, yet they were here, and now. She moved forward into him, and he tasted her lips.

A human woman could do a lot with her assets, in this case, it was the prodigy of kissing.

After a moment of strangeness, the initial motions ceased, and he realized what had happened.

Her eyes leisurely began to open, lids and lashes relaxed as she slowly drunk in the cool air. They parted, and he stared back, his eyes confused.

She rested her forehead upon his, placing her hands behind his ears and on his neck.

He just stared.

"Why?" He said.

"Because I have no one else." She replied.

Without hesitation, they embraced one another. Their faces united once more, her plump, velvety lips compelling against his slimmer, warm ones, dancing around and soon bonding together.  
She grew insistent, her tongue was parting his mouth, sending wild excitation along her nerves, inflicting good vibrations she had not known often.  
The world was cruel, she hadn't been with anyone for a long time. He'd been trapped in hell, forced to serve a dark master beyond his will, he related to this better than anyone.

The heat flowing throughout her body began to grow as she felt his other hand slide through her cleavage and onto her skirt, in contact with her thigh.  
She slowly began to unhook the buttons on her blouse, letting it hang loosely. They locked eyes for a moment. Doubt still crossed him. Lady slowly nodded in agreement, and she avoided his eyes.  
She'd kicked off her boots, the brown things laying across the side of his old bed. Her toenails were red; classy. He lifted her right off her feet, carrying her toward the cot.

It was effortless even when he was so wounded.

He placed her down on the mattress, it's surface fluffy and inviting.

Kissing from her toes upward, slowly his hands soothed her legs.

She reached for his belt, unbuckling and unzipping for him.

Lady could see something totally different on his face, a combination of lust and something else. That was new for him. She felt her back arch in anticipation, knowing where he would soon reach.  
They kept looking at one another, knowing it felt right, yet somehow still wrong on some intrinsic level. Their realm was strange and unforgiving, couldn't they have this one instant without feeling guilty?  
She'd gotten his coat and shirt off, and all his marks and battle wounds laid bare. He was just as scarred as she was. Odd, how they'd become so similar.

Under the sheets now, the cool satin feeling like an old friend.

She rolled him under, laying atop his chest enamored. She ran her fingers through his hair as they remained unbroken in their kiss, eye's closed.  
The light outside dimmed, his fingers reaching for the shades to draw the window shut. She didn't notice. The only windows were above the bed, they were obscured from view as it was.  
Despite knowing all that she'd been through, he could sense a glow within her, blooming forth. It glistered so special, tainting his darkness with a sense of radiance.

It was the first time he'd felt happy in a long time.

* * *

. . .

* * *

An hour later, the two laid in one another's arms, nude, neither one of them wanting to speak. She lay above him adoring his face, occasionally pecking at his chin or neck.  
He just held onto her, feeling her every bit of skin mixed with his own. Savoring the moment; they wanted to forget about their problems and just stay like this, attached. The warmth of another. . .

"Lady." He broke the silence.

She didn't answer him, but he knew she was listening.

He could here the sound of the locals moving about, trying to check their houses. All their personal affections had to be secured, as well as their loved ones left unchecked.  
Soon, they would start to fix all the chaos caused by that old fart. He wanted to say something, perhaps explain what Dante's death had done to him, what it meant to him.  
He wanted to tell her what led to him taking over his brother's business, and using his name. He finally realized everything.

Lady held unto him tighter, like she didn't want to ever let him go.

He understood though, right now she was afraid of someone, holding onto him for shelter.

It must be what Arkham had done to her. The scars ran deeper than flesh, running to her roots. But in the end, they spent an intimate moment both of them needed.  
He felt a sense of responsibility towards her, he'd hurt her just as much as Arkham, in a way. The psychological damage might never fully be repaired. To think she always acted like she hated Dante.  
He'd found a few notes in his office mentioning some of Lady's 'interesting' behavior, but he'd just written it off as idiotic humanity. That was his own viewpoint, and he now disagreed with it.

They still had some measure of time, so he gave into her wants.

* * *

Sometime later, the sun was setting, and the little girl rode out with the captain, a fractured city in her wake

* * *

Patty, with Captain Morgan, traveled through, looking for them. It was a horror she was thankful not to be close to.

The streets looked similar to skeletons stripped of their flesh. All that remained was the concrete shells themselves, no glass, no wood, nothing any scavengers could use.

Even the street-lamps were cut down and dragged away, along with a number of trees.

She could see a couple on the side, saddened by their destroyed homes, their children holding onto them.

A trio of men were in the front looking through the rubble, it seems like they were looking for loved ones.

"Unbelievable!" Patty whispered.

She caught one of the people walking nearby, "Excuse me sir, have you seen Someone tall? He's grim-looking, walks around brooding a lot. With white hair?"

The man thought about it for a moment.

"Yeah, actually. I think I did. He went that way." He said and pointed her to his left, an alley.

"Thank you. Sorry for your loss." She said politely and continued her way.

The destruction seemed to be less on this street, but still there was damage to deal with. She wanted to cry, such a sight is too much. Thankfully, Mr. Morgan was there to comfort her.

"Hey now, this is apart of life. Some storms are too heavy." He said, and she convinced herself to believe it.

But she's a tough one. Patty reached a closed tailor shop, half-destroyed. A kindly old woman sat in front of it, lamenting the horrible damage she had to deal with.

Patty came closer to her and touched her shoulder. "I'm sorry, I hope you get back everything you lost."

The woman looked up, grandmotherly almost. She saw a lot of her own daughter in Patty, even though she was a total stranger.  
Impulsively, the woman hugged the girl and cried. She'd lost her daughter in the rubble, but Patty was a kind reminder, too kind almost.  
Retraining herself, the older woman puled back and apologized, but held back the truth from the young one.

She didn't need to know such horrible loss yet.

"Thank you, little princess." She replied, holding back her pain.

Patty was overwhelmed with emotion herself, knowing this person must have lost someone or something important.

"Absolutely. Can you tell me ma'am, if you saw someone tall with white hair and red clothes?"

The old woman sighed.

"If you are talking about Gilver, this is his house." She pointed her to the house next to them.

"Huh? I'm looking for Dante. Who's Gilver?" She said, confused.

"He's about the only person in town who remotely looks like that."

Right then, Patty sighed and decided to give it a chance. Who was this Gilver guy? She stood in front of the door and knocked as loud as she could. There was a small moment, so she knocked again.  
Still no reply. She kept knocking as politely as possible, deciding not to be so loud. Clearly, that strategy was stupid after about five minutes.

She banged on the door, almost punching it.

The door opened, revealing Dante but he wasn't wearing a coat.

"What in Sparda's name is wrong with- Patty!?" He cut himself off, surprised.

"Dante!" She shouted and hugged him immediately. She felt him tense a bit, keeping his balance.

He also smelled differently, a lovely, almost powdery smell akin to perfume, but it was mixed with his own aftershave, keeping it masculine.  
Maybe it was new cologne, she liked it a lot. Her fun loving face was just the same as it always was, positively beaming joy.

"Easy there," He chuckled fatherly, "I'm still injured ya know."

"S-Sorry." She laughed.

* * *

Thank **you for reading**


	16. ~ Carry On

Vergil gently let go of Lady, and laid her off to the side in bed, he pushed the sheets off and took his clothes. The man sat on the edge of the bed for a long time. He rested his head in his hands. . .  
Haah, so many principles betrayed by simple carnal want. He was so lost, confused. Where should he go from here? What does he do? He didn't know, most certainly not. The day was early, or late?  
He didn't remember, all the time he had seemed to be burning itself up, like gas in a brick oven. His malice was leaving, a side-effect he didn't even account for.

She watched him get dressed, and wanted nothing more than to say something, but she couldn't muster the courage.

What was she going to say to begin with?

Vergil gazed back at her and the two stayed like that for a moment, his blue eyes characteristically cold. They stared, before Lady laid down and her eyes focused on the ceiling.  
The covers laid over her legs, leaving her top half exposed as she thought about what they'd done. . . What  _she_  had done. Her world was cruel to her, making her cold and numb.

Vergil looked down and sighed.

He left the room as it was.

In her confused sleepless emotions, she was drunk on silence. For a time, it seeped into her pores, dowsing her mind in it's thick toxicity. The rationality of her thoughts left long ago.  
She thought about why she'd been drawn to find him, what she'd planned to say. When she needed to say it most, it left her, like almost everything else. She turned on her side, looking at where he laid.  
Now it was her turn to think about it, to think what she'd betrayed inside herself. This was the same man who'd thrown their city into chaos, who couldn't care anything for her or his brother.

And then there was him, her happy old friend. He'd always been like a lazy yellow labrador, a good confidant she never treated right.

By the time she woke up to what kind of man he was, it was too late to thank him.

"I'm sorry Dante." She buried her face in the pillow, and spent the rest of her time weeping silent.

* * *

. . .

* * *

The moment Vergil stepped out he saw the front door wide open, and the old man Marcos standing inside. He closed it behind him as he hobbled toward the slayer.  
Standing before him, the tall man greeted his old friend rather reluctantly. So many years had passed, at least one or two decades since he was last here. He only arrived to one conclusion.

"Good to see you are alive." The old man smiled.

"You're immortal, aren't you?" He said plainly.

The old man laughed, it's true. Many people are surprised by how long he has lived.

Vergil looked at himself in the mirror, it didn't feel wrong. . . Like before. The sight both stung his heart and give him a sense of comfort, made him feel like  _he_  was there with him, in a sense.

"They say: It isn't about where they died, nor even where they lived." Marcos came forward.

His vision caught sight of someone standing behind Vergil, or more like some _thing._ The figure didn't resemble a human visage. This creature was mimicking ever move Vergil does.

A shadow that shouldn't be.

"It's much simpler than that. They simply stay near  _what_  they loved. That's what keeps people here, nothing else." He remarked to himself.

Vergil stayed silent, glaring at his reflection.  
Slowly, he turned his head to look at the man, his eyebrows furrowed.

"What do you mean by that?"

Marcos smiled and chose to leave the house, returning to his place across the way, then coming to help others fix the damage.  
Vergil stood still watching, the door closed. He stared through the small pieces of glass in the woodcut grain. He looked down to his feet.  
The ground wasn't dusty, feeling rugged and clean. He scoffed to himself finally.

"Still speaking in riddles like always." His cool baritone was particularly low now.

Vergil suddenly felt to return to the bedroom, but he couldn't. How can he face her after their. . . ? Intimacy? It just didn't sit well with him. It wasn't like he regretted it-

But. . . For the first time ever, he was put in such a 'situation,' and he wasn't exactly sure what he was feeling right now.

In the midst of it all, he heard a knock on the door, and he didn't really feel like answering anyone. He just wanted to be left alone for now.

The knock continued but much louder. Still he ignored it, wondering what in hell he should do.

The knocks turned to bangs.

He rolled his eyes and paced to the front door,

* * *

"What in Sparda's name is wrong with- Patty!?" He cut himself off, surprised. Right there before him stood the short blonde girl, wearing a blue-yellow-ish dress and a hat.

He couldn't help it but to smile and at the sight of her bright face.

"Dante!" She shouted and hugged him immediately. He was caught off guard, and stumbled back a bit. He wasn't expecting her at all.

Why is she doing this? Did she miss him?  
Yes he supposed so, it was good to see her as well.

"Easy there," He chuckled fatherly, "I'm still injured ya know."

Patty let go of him.

"S-Sorry." She laughed.

Vergil's face softened, remembering the little adventure he had with her, "What are you doing  _here_?"

A bit of red filled in her rosy cheeks, as, for some reason, she avoided his eyes.

"You. . . Said I can come visit you anytime right?" She gathered her courage and looked up at him as she spoke.

"Indeed, but-. . . I mean- Well. . . Just-. . . What are you doing  _here_?" He ended up repeating himself.

He was confused, by visit, he meant the office. Why did she come here? How in hell did she even know he  _was_  here?

"I'm not hopeless, I followed orders and I stayed safe until everything was okay." She answered cheerfully.

There was a feeling in his chest. . . He missed that; that childish energy, her girlish beam. It made him feel better, filled his dark soul with light.

"Really?" He knelt down to her level.

"Y-yeah."

Vergil played with her hair a bit, making her flinch slightly. She didn't expect it is all. Warmly, he pulled her in to hug. He smelled weird, like perfume and cologne mixed together, and something else. . .  
She was shocked, he was never this warm to her unless she'd been through something, but it reaffirmed for her their connection. She knew he didn't want her to think of him that way, but she did.

Dad.

When he let her go, he almost chuckled aloud. Her face was bright right, the most severe blush he'd ever seen.

"Are you into gambling?" She said, bubbly and ditzy almost. She pulled something out from her coat pocket, "Because I have cards."

"Hm. What's at stake?" Vergil replied, a knowing look on his face.

Patty bit the edge of a smile, when she got the funny idea in her head, a vain attempt to keep her creeping grin at bay. The intention behind her perking lips wasn't something that could easily be ensured.  
It was rather better to be insured, hoping for the best of what would happen next.

"Ice-cream cones. I prefer the ones I had that day."

"What? You little rascal," Vergil nearly yelled, " _That's_  why you wanted to visit me suddenly?"

Patty laughed, shaking her head, "Come on, knock it off."

The door opened and Lady walked out, carefully watching them. She stopped immediately when she saw Patty. Specifically, Patty in such close proximity to Dant- Er, Vergil.  
The girl was happy that she had joined up, but noticed her doleful expression immediately. What was wrong? They beat the bad guy, as evident by the. . . Complete destruction. . .

Her shoulders were slumped and her eyes cast down in a depressed gaze.

"A-are you okay Lady?" Patty posed the question.

Lady was silent at first.

She took a small breath.

"Yeah, I'm just. . ." She didn't complete that sentence.

There was too much pain in her, that voice was straining for help. Whether she was hurt from battle or not, the young girl couldn't say.  
Patty looked back at Vergil and noticed his own sad, brooding face. It doesn't take a genius to figure something happened between these two.

"Should I. . . Give you guys some space?"

"No, I'm leaving." Lady replied, "I might return home today, you wanna come with me?"

Patty crossed her arms, conflicted.  
She liked both of them, there wasn't a doubt.

"Uh. . . Uh, no, I think I want to stay with him for awhile."

"As you wish." Lady spoke kindly, then immediately left out down the street, walking away. She needed some time for herself to grieve, to be able to let it go.

Once she got a few feet away, she felt a hand hold hers.

No need to look back, she knew he was the one stopping her.

"Can you stay?" He whispered, hurt, "Just-. . . Just a little longer?"

She closed her eyes, not wanting to deal with this right now. They were wrong, this whole scenario was wrong.  
Things were twisted from how it was supposed to be. Vergil was evil, therefore he should've died. Dante was good,  _he_  should have been here.  
He  _should_  still be here. But. . . She didn't mind the other guy so much anymore. What was happening?

"I'm just-. . . Confused right now." She sighed, "I need time alone. I need to be away. . . From you."

She could feel his maimed soul, his hurting chest. His wavelength, or whatever you wanna call it. She knew she was making things hard for him.  
Honestly, it was just. . . How do you move on from a thing like that? How do you learn to trust people again? He'd lied so much, lied about everything.  
She should've known, all the differences. It wasn't that the island changed him,  _he was just a bad actor_.

And now, this. This stupid, impulsive day.

Then she heard words that surprised her.

"I can't." He spoke softly, "I can't leave you alone. What if Arkham came back again? He's still out there."

His answer was out of nowhere. It's true, her father really might appear again, wherever he crawled from, and spawn chaos, like that night in front of the office.  
She would've died if Vergil wasn't there to put a stop to him. The way he seemed so natural by then, his moves were perfect. Too perfect, playing her like a game of cards.  
The day was progressing, sunset close by now. The slayer felt it leave him the way an old relative does, passing by slowly till you hardly remember it anymore.  
He knew he'd regret this one day, maybe not now, or tomorrow; but certainly, someday he'd feel a mistake haunt him. There wasn't dry eye across the city, everyone was in mourning.

And so was he, he was in mourning for his humanity.

Silence dominated.

To Patty, it seemed like they stood there forever. What were they talking about?

Her striking gaze left him hopeless. At least he saw beauty in the bleakness.  
There wasn't an answer for her, not one he could provide. So, they just were as they were.

"You know. . ." She broke the silence, "Dante said something to me once."

She let go of his hand and faced him.

"He said: 'Someone capable of shedding tears for the lost has a good heart.' He only said it once, but I still remember it. . . I don't know why."

Vergil could sense the conflict inside her, choking on her every word.  
Of course, after everything she'd been through, all that had happened to her so long ago. . . She was a witness to unspeakable crimes. Is it any wonder how she turned out this way?

"I can't understand how someone like you can be this way." She told him, "I don't know what to think anymore, I remember you as that cold, heartless bastard who didn't care about the aftermath.  
You didn't care what would happen to all those innocent people, so long as you got what was yours. You're so selfish, and yet-. . ."

Her lips quivered, ashamed to even think it to herself.

"What? And yet I'm what?" He said, lightly moving her chin with his hand, raising her face up to see his.

These two scarred figures stood perfectly apart, but so close to one another.  
She disliked this, even though another part of her fought that rationale.

"It doesn't matter." She responded flatly, "I'm leaving."

"I'm going back too," He frowned, "You don't have to like me, despite what we've done. Arkham is  _my_  problem, and I will stop him. I won't allow him to lay a finger on you or anyone else again."

He knew he said something wrong by the look on her face.

"Excuse me, is he  _your dad_? He's  _my_  problem. He's  _my_ family. I understand that you and your brother had issues with your father as well, would  _you_ like it if I hijacked that?"

Vergil's mouth closed, and his muscles tightened. Rage coursed through his chest.  
But it was twisted, no longer something pointed at her. This anger was swirling inside himself, blackening.

His nostrils flared, and he turned away. The slayer spurned conversations further, trailing back to the young girl impatient.

Lady sought to argue more, but it was fruitless, she knew. So, she took a deep sigh to herself, then called for Morgan.

* * *

In the frozen air, the night resumed. Weather forced a change of destination, and so the voyage wed the longer hours

* * *

The sea smelled fresh, unpolluted. It was a nice change from the corrupted cities, or the industrialized island. For the first time in a long while, the air was clean to breathe.

The trio had returned to Morgan's boat, and the man welcomed them with a good cheer, "Fantastic! Great to see you lot made it back in one piece, that was crazy stuff back there. Ready to go home?"

"You bet. I need some peace and quiet." Patty cheered.

Oh what an ironic statement, considering she had minimal involvement with the worst of the proceedings. Children.  
Lady went inside the cabin again, and took a seat behind the captain, her eyes focused on the floor. Vergil never liked sailing, it took too long to reach destination.  
Besides, why take so much longer, when he had other means with which to travel? Flight was an amenity he treasured, one of his favorite dark powers.

He laid down on the small deck and watched the sky.

There was cool blanket of moisture, and a light drizzle from some of the luscious clouds. Beyond them, the stars glistened brightly, painting the black canvas with valiant, billion-years-long crusades.  
A cool zephyr rustled his hair, patted his forehead like a wet towel would on a summer day. This was the kind of thing he enjoyed; the quiet, and the serenity. He found it easy to carry on slaying this way.  
He recalled lying on his back pretending to sleep on his first trip ever to Fortuna, watching every little thing people did. His senses had screamed high alert, for he didn't feel like he can trust anyone at all.  
Not then, perhaps not even now. Still, he could trust the Bazooka Merc, her special predilection to virtuous revenge a comforting ally in these darker times.

Though he never noticed the salty air at that earlier time, it was that seaside aroma that took him back to the past.

He wished he really could go back there - Just so he could have a chance to see mom again.

He still recalled what she said those times when he needed a good discipline, her arms crossed, and her boot tapping the ground nonstop.

The look in her eyes was enough to scare him into speechlessness.  
Honestly, the respect he had for women was a deep-rooted instinct.

'Look at me young man,' She would speak sharply, "What do we say?"

He would lower his head and speak, "I'm sorry mom."

"And?"

"I'm grounded, for a week. . ." He'd grown familiar to the patterns of youth rather quickly, though it was in earnest.

How much he missed that voice, no one would know, but there was nothing to do about it. She had gone away a long time ago.  
He felt ashamed, realizing that he'd betrayed his standards as a young man by the way he allowed himself to treat women during his young days.  
The dark tower brought back bad memories for him, as a symbolic refrain from his morals. Arrogance had consumed him then.

It took a long time in hell to think on his sins, what he'd done to others.  
Now, he looked to the moment when he would live that penance straight.

"What are you doing out there?" He heard Patty call out to him.

He opened his eyes and didn't really bother to move, fearful his relaxation would fade away.

"I like to lay down and feel the boat move, while the sea rocks it every once in a while." He answered casually.

"Hm. . ." Patty joined, laying down next to him and staring up at the sky, "I don't know, it makes me feel a bit dizzy."

"Tell me," He said a bit loudly, "How do you feel about . . . That woman who put you in danger?"

The girl shrugged, her face leaving a sigh behind.

"One thing I know for sure is it's never too late to make amends. I believe the real heroes are the ones who won't give up, even if there's no light at the end of the tunnel.  
They'd still keep trying to find it, make it right no matter what." She beamed positive vibes, "And she's trying, so she's slowly becoming a hero."

Vergil lifted his head slightly to look at her in the side. Out of the mouths of babes: Who would have thought a child could rationalize something like that?

Does she even realize what she's said? Perhaps not, children are gullible.  
Still, though, it's refreshing to hear such an honest truth, and children are so very, very pure.

It's never too late to make it right, no matter what. But can someone like him really be redeemed? It was an honest question he'd never thought to ask himself.

He had been selfish in that regard.

Patty felt his warm hand touch her shoulder. She looked to her side to see her one-time protector.

"Thank you for coming." He said.

It was a bit of a rare thing for him to give thanks, and this wasn't lost on her. He'd been colder when last they'd encountered one another.  
What had he been through to make himself so much happier? The difference was honestly amazing, far removing him from his earlier gloom.

"Ah-. . ." She trembled slightly, weirded out by the sudden change, "You're welcome."

* * *

. . .

. . .

. . .

* * *

The bronze sunlight was swallowed up by the horizon. The bright sunny day engulfed itself in the moonlight, where the ocean's flooding made for a slightly rockier adventure.  
Thankfully the trip was over eventually, though it took longer to find another port after they discovered a storm had swallowed their point of origin.

A mere two hours later and they were on dry land once more.

Lady walked ahead of the two in silence. They were almost 'home.' Her's was farther than theirs, but at Patty's insistence, she would stay at the shop for a small time.  
It was understandable, the little girl wanted to get to know her better after she realized she was an important person to 'Dante.' She could lay down and take a nap for a time.

However, strangely enough the street seemed to be busy, more than usual at this hour.

It was called the festival of lights. Along the dark wintry lane shone hundreds of lamps; illuminating all with their flickering candles.  
The lights cast every color by the tinted panes, and Patty couldn't help but be reminded of candy. She could smell great food too, things like caramel-apples, popcorn, pulled-pork sandwiches.  
As a gathering, it was an amazing experience for those new to the city, or those who took joy in social interactions. Vergil was neither anymore, but Patty couldn't help herself.

It was as if the lane was iced by the baker on the high-street, and even better than the cake she had last birthday.

Everywhere there were folks in their winter garb, some wore thick jackets, mitts and scarves.  
To add to the gaiety, most children carried a lamp of their own making, their gentle puffs of steaming breath made tangible by the glow, only to disappear into the inkiness.  
At the stroke of eight on the square's old clock would come the first wave of songs, songs of thanks to echo into the homes of even the curmudgeons.

They'd constructed a little stage, one made of temporary metals and rigging.

From here came all sorts of music, traditional folk, rock, standard dance numbers from the 60s, even tango-infused classical music.  
The celebration was a temple of diverse palates, appealing to a wide range through both melody and drink and food.

"It's beautiful isn't it? I forget tonight is the festival." Lady told the young one, breaking the silence.

She was enamored, finding it a great dichotomy to the usual happenings.  
Vergil hadn't any patience for it, he started to walk away.

"Investigate, if you must." Vergil said, "My office is right around the corner."

"What? No, you should stay! It'll be fun, come on." She tugged at his hand.

He rolled his eyes, "Fine, I'll stand here for awhile."

"Well, at least you're here." She sighed into a smiling chuckle, and ran through the crowd.

The two were left alone once again, and none of them wanted to talk much. It's too tender a subject.

Still. . .

"Lady?" He whispered, "Remember what you told me before? . . . Dwelling in the past only hinders you from moving forward."

She tensed up, but still wouldn't look him in the eye. She remembered their past conversation, after she'd shot him in the mouth.

"What happened to you? You talked about being someone's 'walking slave?'"

Vergil heaved a long shudder, he never liked remembering. Especially the horrible toture Mundus put him through.

A nightmare he has been trying desperately to forget.  
The girl was a safe distance away, so he made the decision.

"His name is Mundus. He imprisoned me that night, after the tower. . . You can't even imagine what that vindictive being is capable of." He paused for a moment, should he tell her?

She looked at him, finally. Her eyes were knowing, almost like they could tell what he would say next.  
A tear formed in the corner of his eye. Damn, again? It was a freshly re-opened wound, he supposed.

" _He_  is the one who murdered Dante. Somehow, I don't know. . . Before he died, Dante set me free. He allowed me to escape before he took his last breath."

Her gaze returned to the festival. She scoffed, her fingers fidgeting in place.

"And you chose to take over his office," She replied, "How can you justify that? How can you justify taking his identity? He told me you always had a reason for everything. So Why?"

His looked remained unchanged.

"I-. . . I didn't. I don't have a reason why." He told her.

"That's not good enough. I don't believe you." She said, and he could sense her anger rising.

The man turned to her, and laid all bare.

"I didn't have a plan. I had nowhere else to go, and I know no one else that still lives. I became Dante because I was scared." He nearly choked, why was he telling her this?

No need to stop now, might as well stick with it.

"He was always right. I pretended when we were young that I somehow knew more, that I was the stronger of the two. But that wasn't ever the truth.  
Dante was never scared, and if he was, he knew how to use it to better himself. I don't- I can't. It's not in my nature to accept fear, I crumble into rage."

That tear fell to the ground after so long.

She turned back to look at him, surprised.  
Never did she think he would reveal this about himself, ever.

He slumped back, assuming a poor posture. Ironically, he resembled Dante even more now.  
The man stepped away from her a small foot, ambling around as he felt his chest ache.

"Y-You know. . . No one ever loved Vergil.  _Everyone_  loved Dante." He couldn't stop himself, the admission hung in the air like humidity in the summer.

He was so blind to it at first, feeling the decision impulsive and stupid. He always felt himself to be so above it all, like the north star.  
Shining so far away from everyone, isolating himself in cruelty. The thought of power comforted him, made him drunk with pride, hardened his heart to the truth.  
Beneath all his preaching, all his might, there still sat a lonely man shackled by fear of failure. Only a raven served as occasional company.

It never chirped, only spoke to his ego.

Out of nowhere, he felt her wrap her arms around him.  
A familiar warm spot dotted his clothes. The hug was a simple enough gesture - kindness, perhaps the fragile beginnings of something else.

In a way it was cathartic for the two of them, coming to terms.

The arms that held him were so strong, stronger than any other person he'd met. The feel of her body so close to his soothed him more than he had expected.  
Within seconds he pulled away, waiting for her to say something. He was sure he must look like some fool, but the idea was just nagging him more and more.  
He needed to know. He knew she did also.

"I don't know either." She answered, fully knowing his mentality, "I need to be alone, so I can figure this out. You have to realize; I need a chance to mourn my friend."

Oh. Right, and he was sure the way he looked didn't aid things either. He'd grown comfortable to be this way.  
Dante's appearance was like a second skin now, he wasn't sure he'd ever shed it anymore, despite whatever mixed feelings he may have had earlier.  
Vergil touched her shoulder, he understood where she came from. It had to be let go, it wasn't the right time.

He had no choice but to be around the corner watching from afar, in case 'daddy' showed up again.

"I understand." He replied, and he slowly corrected his stature.

Lady lowered her head slightly and nodded.

With that, she walked away. Under wicked skies, he knew not whether she was like the rest, if she was unforgiven too.  
If she could understand him, then he could know her, through the black of day or dark of night.  
She once laid beside him, watched his black heart scar darker still, but her eyes are closed now.

The lights were beautiful, he couldn't deny this any longer. Deep down, he wondered if he lost her for good. She'd never again be seen talking to him.

"I deserved it," He chuckled slightly as he looked to the stars, the moon peering out from the clouds suddenly.

He smiled to himself, at least he had that one memory. She'd be there when he was gone, it was what he felt, what he'd known.  
It was time to turn a page, and the door on his soul closed again. For now, he had the festival to enjoy. He scanned the crowd for Patty.

"Come on, Dante." He saw her wave at him from the distance, riding a dazzling carousel.

He started walking toward her, slowly. Spending some time here might not be too bad after all.

Just when Patty was about to whine about how slow and gloomy he looked, a clown burst out into the street.

He was as vivid as summer blooms - red hair more vibrant that a firecracker adorned his head, starkly contrasting to the paper-white make-up of his face.  
His mouth was playful, normal almost, and raised into a smile. His steps had a bounce to them, and the crowd seemed to know him as they all cheered on his arrival.  
Behind him trailed a mass of balloons, jostling in the radiant rays, each as beautiful as the next.

All thoughts of her complaint had been erased from their minds and she stopped to watch the figure approach, making a beeline right for center stage on the road.

The clown began his act, and all that purveyed him garnered their dollar's worth.  
He was a pretty darned good clown, making even the most cynical of adults bust up.

A few little tricks and gags later, and another, blue haired clown popped up. They had great chemistry, making the audience captive over the act as they engaged in slapstick magic.

It was honestly quite entertaining, and though he didn't show it, Vergil felt himself enjoying the spectacle underneath.

The clown bounced around on one foot as the other hit his red shoe with a mock hammer, and he switched feet as soon as he happened to bounce back around to his partner.

Even the light couldn't outshine her smile, all the children laughing. It was a strangely picturesque thing, the slayer was unaccustomed to such a happy setting.  
What great atmosphere here, his troubles merely melting away. Surrounded by warm light and a happy crowd, even Vergil couldn't resist a chuckle or a smile eventually.  
These clowns were far more talented than others he'd seen, making street-theater a somewhat respectable art-form for him.

Someone shoved a beer into his hands, and he was carried along by the waves of spectators into the crowd.

He managed to stay close by, watching with a light smirk as he neared Patty. He could see she was having so much fun.

Ah, how innocent.

* * *

 **Hours went by, and finally, the exhausted young one was carried through the office doors, the dark slayer dragging himself** in

* * *

Returning home, he felt like a tortoise retracting into his shell. The sense of nervousness evaporated.  
To anyone else, this is a place just like all others similar to it on this street, but to him it's a sanctuary. It's his cocoon, his simple rest.

He opened the front door and trudged inside. He couldn't help but to smile inside at the sight of the office.

He placed the little one to bed upstairs, making sure her neck rested comfortably on the pillows, as he left on top of the covers.  
Crashing on the couch downstairs, he took a breath, stretching his legs. Patty would return here after sleep, so this was his best chance for a nap.  
He felt this blackness come over him, like a blanket, but not a one of warmth. It was an overlay of frost, a chilled touch making him shiver.

He trailed off into a dreamless sleep, too drained to care.  
It was hard to discern how much time went by, but it could've been only a couple of minutes.

When he heard the phone ring, he got up, pushing himself onward to the desk. He collapsed, but spun around as he did, gracefully falling on the seat of the desk chair.

It tilted back off it's balance, sending him crashing to the floor. Counteracting this, he slammed his airborne legs down, banging against the surprisingly durable furniture.  
The chair ceased it's fall, bolting forward into place as the force of his crossed legs sent the phone's receiver flying into the air. He watched it sail, the long cord letting it travel far.  
He held out his hand to the side, and he caught the thing in his fist, thankfully. Bemused, he brought the thing to his ear after a moment of hesitation.

That was weird, he'd never done that before; didn't even know that the phone would throw itself that far.

Well, whatever, following that, he answered.

"Uh-. . . Devil May Cry."

Silence as he listened.

"I'm sorry what?"

The other end came back with more information.

"Y-your boyfriend died playing  _poker._ Uhuh. . ." The skeptic in him rose to the surface.

"Okay, well - Since you insist, come to my office tomorrow and explain this more. It sounds. . . Interesting. . ."

* * *

**Thank you for reading!**


	17. ~ Will of Evil

. . .

* * *

The inner city grew out of cracked sidewalks like the jagged black-toothed grin of an old junkie.

The only splash of color within this grime came from lurid graffiti, all manner of phrases inscribed on the walls.

Meanwhile, the sides of each street were littered with injection paraphernalia.

Though glorious in it's inception, the streets themselves were smooth black slabs, merged with such precision that the joints were almost invisible.  
All the supports were concrete, akin to the construction of a modernist skyscraper, all it's corner-edges sharp and sleek.  
The buildings were nothing short of monoliths, bastions of a city's pride, stamping its arrival on the map of financially significant places to trade with.  
Yet, no one had communicated this vision to the citizenry. The street that should have been a joy to walk down was littered with garbage and the detritus of dogs.

Enjoying the crummy views would mean taking your eye off your shoes, and no one wanted to do that.

A man was on his way, but he couldn't help noticing the sound of something else following him close by.

'Relax, you're almost home,' He kept telling himself over and over again but it wasn't of any particular use. He was afraid.

From the darkness came the sound of heavy limbs dragging across the street ground. It sounded like a sickly gorilla, massive arms grinding. Either it lugged it's feet or carried it's arms low, scraping along.  
Every once in a while would come a cracking noise like bone on wood, or what sounded similar. It was like a thick skull crashing into a tree trunk. The sickening crunches made the man's stomach flip.  
This thing. . . Whatever it was, was neither graceful, lithe-ed, nor blessed with progressive thoughts. By chattering blue lips, trembling muscles crept slowly as there was no other option, not anymore.  
He was about to run, the grumbling growing nearer and nearer.

Something green shifted in front of him.

The man stumbled backwards at the sight of it. It was a giant creature, one that was reptilian.

"Aah!" He cried at the beast, it's glowing red eyes looking like a crocodile's broaching the surface.

Razor claws accompanied black rags and dark green scales. It's massive, hunched-over back was adorned with spiked bones.  
The jaw itself was hardwired to chomp down as fast as possible. The face above it was warped and wide, like a pancake. What a mug.  
Inspiration doesn't come easily, but if the man was Dr Jekyll, this would be his perfect Hyde.

"Get back! Get  _back!_ " He screamed.

It just laughed in his face, this Lovecraftian nightmare a true reality for him. It's arms were larger than cars, dragging along the ragged concrete like steel horse corpses.

How and why? That was all he really wanted to know, the mere idea of a monster like this being a perverse contradiction of biology.

Closer and closer it came, Herculean strength cracking the stone beneath it. The mouth opened up, spanning an entire three feet when all the gum flaps unraveled.

A mechanical rumbling echoed through the dark as the smell of burning gasoline soon invaded their nostrils. A blinding headlight pierced the entity's eyes, a motorcycle fast approaching it.

A figure on the bike yelled to the man, "Get out of here."

Lady was in control, her physique bubbling with human hatred. She released her grip on the bike, and it came rolling forward into beast's hairy chest.  
The man was barely able to roll away from the flame's reach. The entire thing went up in a ball of machine-hell, and the man barely escaped a flying tailpipe.  
She landed with ease, her muscled legs made for this kind of stress. She turned to him again as she removed her helmet.

"Go!" She yelled, dropping her voice down three octaves.

But he was too stunned at the moment to realize what was happening.

" _Move your ass_. . ." She sharply criticized his slack jaw, and shot off an entire clip of rounds with her pistol.

The monster had been knocked off-guard by the exploding automobile in it's face, so the bullets managed to stagger it a good deal further, but that wouldn't last.

This was the cue for the man to run, go home and be safe.

The demon ripped off a flaming piece of motorcycle from it's torso and stared wildly, tongue hanging down an entire foot, and it's shoulders aflame, like a vision of hell.  
Its snout and hands were scarlet, splashes of violent color against its sickly dark scute. Broken open from the crash, it's forehead hung the plated skin loosely, exposing what looked like a weakness.  
She pulled Kalina Ann from her back and leveled her sights on her target. By the time she'd raised her weapon, she saw a spiral of white feathers floating down.  
It was the trail of something powerful, a dark force that tore her demonic foe apart. It fell on it's face, bleeding. The man bolted off across the street, past this brutish incubus.

". . . What?" She whispered after a second of silence.

She gazed up at the source, and lo and behold, at the top-edge of the roof stood a tanned woman with vivid crimson hair, tucked in a reserved pony tail to the side. Still, bangs covered half her face.

"Who are you!?"

The woman was quiet at first, staying silent as she flung herself from the rooftop.  
She landed with grace, releasing a shockwave as she touched the ground. She wasn't injured at all.

"I apologize. Miss. I didn't mean to take over your occupation." She spoke calmly, in somewhat broken english, "I came here for you, as I smell Dante all over you.  
Can you please have lead me on for him?"

"Uh, sure. . . When did you meet him?" Lady requested the info for posterity's sake.

"Will, about two weeks or so," The girl replied, "We took a walk everywhere in the forest, then fought for the safe of my peoples-"

Lady closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. She let out a sigh as she returned to her bazooka, heaping it over onto her back.  
Of course, she would have known that getting intimate with a man like that would mark her forever with the same luck as Dant-Vergil. Vergil.

"-Enough, enough, I don't wanna hear about your stupid picnic. His office is this way."

Lucia was surprised by the weird reaction, but a smile graced her polite face.

"If you are his girlfriend, relaxed. I will not steel your man." She said, placing her hand on her shoulder, "I wish to be his semantic on missions abroad. The case of strange wolves."

So confident, so. . . Incorrect. And that assumption.

Girlfriend? Oh lord, this girl was lost.

"I'm not-. . . We're not-. . . It's complicated!" She lashed out, "Just-. . . It's-. . . Gah, just- Keep going that way then take a right when you see a 'Stop' sign."

Lady matched her words with a finger pointed down the street, and continued, "When you get to the diner, go around left and it's in a backlot. You'll find it, the sign's like a christmas tree."

Lucia beamed a thankful smile, and Lady returned with a stilted grin.  
She grit her teeth as she turned her head back. God, this day was really sucking.

Lucia actually smirked, "Oh, so I am incorrect?" The tone was teasing, "Farewell, Female."

Lady stood still looking at where Lucia's face used to be, remaining static as the visitor moved on to the shop down the road.

What a 'person. . .'

Lucia went towards what she thought was diner, believing the light to be what that Lady had spoken of.

A shift through the way air was flowing was followed by the light vanishing, simply clicking off before. This wasn't right. Their was a tall figure blocking her way.

"Raah! Welcome to Hell, my darling." It yelled at her, a strong male voice shifting to a clownish persona mid-sentence. The figure remained intense, as if to physically say he was ready for a big show, a kind of exhibition.

"Who are you!?"

He had a deep smile, the figure revealing himself as a twisted joker.

"It's raining, it's pouring  
The Sparda child is losing  
He went to bed and he bumped his head  
And couldn't get up in the morning."

. . . In the stillness of the night, the voice of a terrified woman rung out, but no one was there to answer her. Rain can't soak what is not there.

* * *

. . .

* * *

Slowly and reluctantly, she uncovered her face. Blinking, she closed her eyes, resting them shut. Streaks of sunlight penetrate the window and were blinding her.  
She sat up, dragged her feet off the bed, and rubbed her knuckles into her eyes. Patty stretched her arms high above her head and yawned. She watched as her legs dangle. . .

"Wait. . . This isn't my room!?" She murmured lazily. But then memories came back to her, the festival, all it's wonderful performers and the ambiance lasting for hours, perhaps until midnight or later.

Patty felt slightly freaked out when she didn't hear the sound of Vergil's snoring.

Wait, why was it so silent? Isn't he here? Did he leave her alone? The frantic ramblings of a child, but frantic nonetheless.

"Maybe he's just reading a book or something." Patty said, trying to reason with herself.

A moment later she heard the sound of footsteps moving about. Her chest relaxed.

Patty sighed, and looked at herself concerned, "Why am I afraid?"

She took a comb out of her pocket and started fixing her hair, and then she lifted it up in a clean bun.  
Such as it was, she'd probably still need to grab a shower, but her hope was to do so back home with the other Patty.  
They'd actually grown rather pleasant toward one another, in a genuine way.

Patty jumped off the bed and opened the door. There was still a sense of cooled air in the place, not too chilly, but just the right type of relaxing.  
She wished she could go back under the blanket for a little bit, it was pretty snug, but sleep's over, she isn't the type to continue dozing till noon.

Slowly Patty descended the stairs and the moment she reached the open the door, she saw Dante sitting on his fancy chair. . . Legs lifted upon the desk.  
He was drinking something inside a mug, it smelled like coffee, but her childish intuition suggested something else potentially. Still, best to go with coffee.

"Good morning!" She cheered with a smile.

He put his legs down and took a breath, "Hey there, did you have a good sleep."

He concerned himself with one of Dante's magazines, becoming fascinated by the mere way women could even get themselves in that position.

'Dante' quickly put the booklet away, opening a drawer lightning-fast, and plopping the magazine inside the compartment as fast as possible.

"What were you reading?" She asked, completely unaware.

"Nothing, nothing, just a-uh. . . Just an article on-. . . Sh-Shelubist. . ." He trailed off when he said it, keeping his voice low so she wouldn't hear.

"Oh, okay."

"Yeah. . . S-so, did you sleep well?" He quickly changed the subject.

She came over to the desk, "Oh yes! Best sleep I've had in a while!" How? She's only nine years old. . . "Did you stay up all night?"

Vergil gazed back at her as she took a seat on the other side of the desk.  
He looked down at the desk, placing the mug off to the side. He wiped his eyes with his gloved-hand.

"Ah, don't worry about me, I don't need sleep. A little nap for a half hour is enough to give me strength." He answered casually, "Did you tell your caretaker about your whereabouts?"

Patty sighed, "Don't worry, I gave her a heads up."

Vergil crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at her, "What's with the tone, little one? Did something happen?"

"Not really. . . She didn't do anything to me, it's just. . . I still haven't fully forgiven her."

Understandable, what the kid went through isn't something easy.

"Is there a coffee maker here?" She asked, surprising him again.

"One: You drink coffee? And two: What do you think I've been drinking?" He asked with a slight smirk.

Yeah, it was remedied as easily as coffee, she knew not to overthink it. What else would he be drinking?  
Patty couldn't help but smile at his reaction, not the first time somebody gave her that face. She did drink it though.  
It'd become like an old friend, visiting every once in a while to give her a boost and yellow her teeth. Nothing some toothpaste and persistent youth couldn't fix.

"I know it's weird but it's a habit I picked up. I want some energy to get goin here."

Vergil shook his head, not liking this at all, but still pointed at the corner of the setting area, where the machine was placed.  
Patty chuckled and went to make her odd breakfast. She made some noises, loud enough to get Vergil's attention again. He looked over to her, concerned.

"Do you. . . ? Do you know how to make coffee yet?"

Silly, he should have thought of that.

"Uh, I've never done it myself, but-" She tried to explain, but Vergil was already walking over when he interrupted.

"-Just step over, let me show you." He said, coming to her aid as he showed her all the steps.

It was so weird for her to have someone show her how to do something, no one at the orphanage showed her stuff like this, and her new guardian had enough money to afford servants.  
So, it was a little interesting, not bad, but interesting still. He fiddled about with the can, showing her the proper amount to make a tasteful batch, and showed off the advent of creamer and sugar.  
She could choose between both? Awesome. It was such a different experience.

"That's how it's done, then on most modern one's, you just press this button and wait. Got it?" He told her.

She nodded her head. He took her affirmation and walked back over to the desk.

"Okay, so. . ." He got situated, then remembered, "Do you still feel like playing poker with me?" He asked loudly.

"Oh yeah! I warn you though, I'm not an amateur player!" She laughed as she waited for the coffee.

Patty returned to the desk and asked him, "Where's the bathroom?"

"Down there," He pointed to his right.

Thunder came like the prelude to a great song, impetuous rumbling permeating the air every bit as much as the sudden rain.  
At first it was a crack, violent to the ears, but after came a rolling of claps, the great rumbling sounds dissipating slowly into the surrounding hills.

"It's raining again? What's with the weather recently?" He heard Patty's muffled voice comment.

"I have no Idea, heat is supposed to return these next few days, right?" He replied monotone.

"I dunno, don't watch the weather report, but the city isn't known for being  _so_  rainy, that's why it's a bit weird."

The doorbell had a strangled sound, as though it's battery were drained. Just then, Vergil made a note to self: Get someone to fix that. He didn't want people barging in whenever they wanted.  
Not that anyone would respect the 'doorbell code,' Lady seemed comfortable just walking in whenever she pleased, but it was still better this way.

"Come in." He said loudly.

Streaks of jagged white crackled against a stormy blanket of grey, shrouding hot silver clouds with its blinding incandescence, emanating the might of an imminent storm.  
Barbed bolts endlessly protruded, filling the sky with blazing flashes of un-death. A woman entered, adorning a charcoal business suit and skirt. Her eyes were like embers, burning into him.  
Some women just had that smoldering look, able to bring a normal man to his knees. Her hair was black, darker than any fabric, and richer than ebony.

The raven locks fell down to her back.

Leaving the harsh weather behind, the woman closed her umbrella and held it next to her bouncy hips.

"Hello. . ." Her monotonous voice made his eyes focus, "I'm the one who spoke to you on the phone."

He signaled her to take a seat. The woman was a bit tall, not as tall as Lady though. Her coat hid a built form, one that was thicker than most, but by no means less appealing.  
Sitting down in the chair Patty once occupied, she chose not to look him in the eyes, so her expression was just flat. She crossed her legs, her black three inch heels revealing a stern mind.  
It was all about the focus, the rest wasn't important. He had a feeling he'd get along with her, she had a similar air.

"Tell me what happened?" Vergil broke the silence.

"My boyfriend was a good guy, always took care of his job. Suddenly, he got an invitation from someone named 'King.'" The woman started telling her story, emotions slowly rising.

"King?"

The woman nodded.

"Rumors said that anyone who gambles with this guy ends up dead. No explanation why, they just. . . End. The way he looked at the end, he just. . . He wasn't even a man.  
I tried to warn him to stay away, stop gambling but, it's like he became an entirely different person. He kept throwing his money away. He didn't  _have_ an addictive personality at all."

She paused, but managed to find the strength to say it, "Until he played a game with King, and lost."

Vergil laid back on the chair, thinking this through. This was a little bizarre, he didn't really get jobs like this, or so his brother's reputation told him.  
It was more the idea that Dante's line of work tended towards beastly endeavors, or at the very least scumbag revenge. Maybe Vergil just didn't understand the business itself.  
Could this be an actual demon, or the work of a witch? He didn't even know what the man's death looked like.

"The guy sent out an invitation to me. Only. . . It's for you. It said on the envelope to deliver it to you at this address." The woman continued and placed a small leather box on the desk.

It was relatively minor in size, not at all the type of thing that would be considered an 'invitation.'  
The leather upholstery lost another day for him, it's peculiar pattern forever left damned to his understanding. What one couldn't understand, they couldn't see coming.  
Not that he wouldn't be prepared, it looked like some cheap jungle trick. The room's dim lighting did little to mask the box's ornate craftsmanship.

"Hmm. . ." He reached out to the little thing, it's weight little more than a copper wire.

He looked it over, the ashes falling on and on in his head. Shaking it did nothing, and as Vergil's inspection dragged on, the woman was clearly disturbed by it.  
What so special about it, was this man even okay? It's just a fucking box, open the damned thing. Somehow, he heard her thoughts as he did so, and saw a fancy looking card along with a pocket watch.  
The reason he knew that he was stricken by the card was it's status as a joker. The head-tails, the warped, laughing face. . . Arkham. . . It bore a superficial resemblance, he wasn't entirely sure.

That settled it, he should see what happens here. Time to bust out his nonexistent card skills.

"We have an accord. My payment is one thousand, since it seems fairly straightforward." He was a little shocked at how formal that all sounded.

It just felt. . . Wrong, too complex. It felt rather convoluted coming off his tongue that way.  
No no, no more of that, he wouldn't subject himself to that speech again, it bothered him too much.

The woman's face nonetheless brightened, like hope had come back. How little it took to please humans, they were like children at times, their basic principles so common and banal.

"Thank you."

Vergil scowled at his desk, then looked back at her with a thought, "What do you want me to do when I find him."

"If you find that King-bastard, I want him dead. . . I want his house burnt  _to the ground._ " The steely look in her eyes made all the difference.

Vergil swallowed, "You have my word."

She paid him in cash, taking out a wad of hundreds that she had been keeping in her purse since her boyfriend's death.  
Then, she gave him a look at the picture of her flame from her smartphone. The sight was. . . Intriguing.

It looked like the man was still human only vaguely, his general appearance being one of filth and age. Gone were the vestiges of human understanding, twisted and warped by greed.  
The physical body was somehow degenerated into someone impossibly old, his eyes round crystals of unending stares, the flesh that held being corrupted and brown.  
Atop the man's head, his hair had fallen away, leaving only a few strands of brown behind to hang like corpses off the side of the skull. His weight had gone down, to the point of visible bones.  
It looked like a skeleton that merely wore another man's flesh, the sinew unnervingly small, though still there.

His finger nails had become long, wretched talons, as brittle as they were razor sharp. The teeth of that gallows-smile were yellow and crooked, their ends sharpened by damage.

Vergil took in the imagery without breaking a sweat, he'd seen far worse done to humans, and far more gruesome sights from non-humans.  
The general feeling he got from the man's appearance was that something had been worsening his health, though what it was he didn't know.

"How did you not know something was wrong?" He couldn't help but ask.

"He came home from a game looking like that." She pulled up a different photo and showed him, " _That's_ what he looked like directly before."

The image showed an underweight, but still handsome man, looking pale and with dark circles around his eyes.  
Hardly the same figure as before, he wasn't sure what was a capable of reducing a man down like that.

"I see. He came home like that? I remember you told me he passed shortly after. . . Now I know why." Vergil swirled thoughts around in his mind.

She nodded at him. They didn't need anymore words, her eyes said it all. She gave him a look of gratitude and walked on, while Vergil sat as his desk.  
When she got to the door and turned back, he returned her same recognition. The door opened, and that haunting chill returned, the rain nearly getting into his office.  
The bell jangled as it closed, the office was quiet for several minutes more.

Staying as he was inspired no confidence, he just kept on looking over the box, looking for anything beyond mortal sight. Sadly none were found, so he gave up his search for the last time.

Patty walked out, slowly, watching the woman's silhouette vanish from view through the front door window.

"Who's that?"

"A client. I'll be leaving for a job in a couple hours. You'll. . . Have to come with me as well." He knew arguing wouldn't work, and he wouldn't dare leave her here alone.

He knew it'd be reckless if he brought her along, but it would be what's best for the moment.  
If only that woman weren't soul-searching, Lady could take care of her without issue. Of course, he didn't want to offend her with a sexist job proposal of looking after a young one such as Patty.  
God, human interaction was so skull-splitting-ly difficult, he was sure he couldn't deal with this any longer if it got worse. He knew it would, but he supposed there was a challenge there.

He left his chair and went to get a drink for himself. He knew it would do him no good, but a shot of Absinthe was he required this moment.  
The bottle was green, and it was one of Dante's joke-buys. It had a label that read 'Absinthe: The drink that makes you want to kill yourself.'

Charming.

Patty felt a gelid zephyr, as if the front door was left wide open. At first Patty found it hard to pin-point why she felt so unsettled, but then she heard a voice.

Something was calling out to her. She saw the box at the desk, something about it was alluring.  
Like she was moving in her own, she opened the box and gazed upon the golden pocket watch.

She couldn't take her eyes off it, for some reason. Ignoring the foreboding character to the watch, her hand closed around it and her head bowed down immediately.

"It shouldn't be dangerous, not with me there. I think you'll enjoy the change of scenery." Vergil commented after finishing off the bottle.

There was a sudden sound, it was something slamming on the ground. He glanced back at the source.  
The coat rack was down on the floor. The little girl was holding his katana, unsheathed and admired.

" _Put it down, child_." His stark voice returned, along with scorn-filled eyes.

He took a step toward her after quickly noticing the watch around her neck.  
That's what the problem was. . . He knew something felt off, it just wasn't the box.

"A game. Let's play a game,  _Dante_." Her voice was low and chilling, far beyond her range, "Are you going to die, or am I?"

She plunged the blade forward.

Vergil's eyes remained stern as he darted forward to the girl. He tapped her forehead, and she fell out of it.  
The slayer caught her unconscious form on one arm before she had the chance to hit the ground. Yamato was stuck in his backside, blood seeping down on the ground.  
He forgot how much his own blade hurt, he hadn't felt it's steely grip in quite some time.

"Well, that's special. . ." He grumbled as he removed the glowing pendant from her neck.

"Hmph. . ." He took the watch and carried her to the couch.

He took a breath before grabbing the hilt. Damn, she got it in there pretty far. In a short, but excruciating five seconds, he pulled the blade out, having to take two motions to do so.

The floor'll need a cleaning after this. Damn it. He summoned the hilt with a snap, and sheathed the blade.  
He then banished the weapon, and took care as he inspected the peculiar watch, it's golden curves unnaturally perfect.

Something was seriously wrong about that watch, there wasn't a doubt. He didn't know what yet, but there was just something fundamentally incorrect about it.  
A thing like that shouldn't exist, and it's only a pocket watch. Was he losing his mind or was this some kind of 'Sparda-istic intuition?' Only time would tell.

Patty stirred slightly as she opened her eyes. Once her vision cleared, she looked around, then leapt from her seat.

She flew off the surface behind the couch's corner, and huddled herself in a ball. She was trying to hide, to become invisible.

"I'm- I didn't-. . ." Her warm voice held pain, emotionally, "I'm would never do that. . . ! I heard these voices, I couldn't-"

"-It's alright. You're okay." The man interjected as he approached her, "I know."

"Huh?" She looked up at him.

Once more, she saw that usual half-smile-smirk looking down at her. It was one of those signature aspects of 'Dante,' an immutable quality of safety.

"I think you just solved the mystery for me."

"What!?"

Vergil took a seat on the couch next to her, "Listen carefully."

* * *

. . .

* * *

He didn't really need directions to the casino. It was hard to miss, huge fluorescent lights spelt out, 'Vegas Lights.'

"There it is!" Patty pointed.

Time to park. Vergil didn't need a car, but Patty did. Rather than subject her to a ghastly, life-scarring visage, he would much rather drive for her sake.  
It'd been a while, but he managed to get the hang of it after some time. That didn't stop a few mishaps, but the two of them just kept riding on, burning gas and lifting latches.  
The weather was turbulent to put it mildly, but thankfully, Vergil had obtained an old-school Cadillac, the giant boat of a vehicle providing more than enough room.

Patty had stretched out in the repaired back, the entire thing a little haven to hang out.

She kept looking out the side window as Vergil kept himself focused, so she could at least see where the place was.

Once they'd found a spot, he locked the doors and put the key in his jacket pocket.

The two walked through the huge doors, and immediately it felt like another world.  
Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head once they got inside, the entire ceiling a huge example of castle vaults.  
It was like walking into the venetian, albeit without the extravagant river running through it's grand halls.

It was ginormous, huge golden chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, all sorts of slot machines and glitzy games accompanied by old and young men that looked like they used hundreds as tissue.

"Oh that is  _fancyyy_. . ." She murmured.

"Damn right- I mean, yes of course." Vergil replied, he held her hand and kept going, "This way, ya know the deal right?"

Patty's hands trembled slightly, her expression speaking volumes, "I don't know, it's scary. There's so many people here."

"No it's not, I'll be fine." He assured her with a confident smile, "Just keep that brooding face intact, and it'll work. I can check in and get a room if you want, you want to stay there?"

"No, no, I'm fine! I want to see the action!"

The more Vergil thought about it, the more he realized it might be a good idea to have Patty stay safe in a room.  
Her defiance of this would only make her unhappy, and that was something he didn't want hanging over him.

"All right, if you say so." He said as he stood and turned to walk off, "Just remember there might be somethings you never wanted to see."

She stood there with her face a little bit worried, but then hurried after as she realized he hadn't taken her hand again.  
The two kept going until they met a man with slicked hair in a purple dress shirt with a black vest and rolled up sleeves. He greeted them at the doors to a room marked 'King's Place.'  
Must be the right place.

"Hey, whoa, no kids allowed buddy. No one under 21." The man said putting a hand out to block Patty from his face.

"Are the Maitre D?" Vergil asked.

"Yeah? Did you hear me or not?" He said.

The slayer smirked as he walked up to the manager and stared down at him. His eyes intensified to a crimson and he spoke in a gravelly tone.

"I heard you say you would make special accommodations for my companion." He said, continuing, "Now, open the doors."

He stood there, weirded out, but resisted Vergil's tactic somewhat.

"Uh- Uhm. . . No. You'll need to take her home or put her in a suite. I can't make any exceptions, I-"

Vergil cut him off with a shift of his face, the structure changing for a private showing his triggered physiology. Others walking by felt nothing and saw nothing.  
The man choked on air as he saw the Devil's true eyes, and knew refusal was impossible. It was a technique Vergil liked to call 'Soul Burn.'

"You're becoming a bother, little man. Open. . . The Doors."

"Y-Yes sir." The man said, suddenly amenable, his deep voice remaining so as his mind felt entranced to do thy bidding.

They were led through to a room, where three other's waited as staff set up a poker table, and a fourth one who would be giving them the cards.

Patty tugged his hand, "That was cool, how did you do that?"

"You just have to be assertive, you know?" He said.

"All right, you I need a table for the little girl right here, get her anything she asks for, good?" The man who'd stood in their way told an asian worker.

He gave the thumbs up response, so the man nodded his head and came over to the duo like a waiter.

"Okay, I'm getting her set up, anything else you need?" He asked.

The man was roughly 5'8, but rugged. His facial hair was black and groomed well into a stylistic beard.  
His manners were unprecedented following that incident, and his treatment of them had softened dramatically.

"Yes, what's your name?" Vergil said.

"Ah, Tony."

"Hmm, well Anthony, come find me after the game. We're set for now." Vergil replied.

"Gotcha, gotcha. . . Okay, have a great game." The man said as he gave them two thumbs up, then walked off to resume guarding.

"Being assertive got that guy to be nice?" Patty whispered.

"It's all in the reflexes." He told her, and she just looked at him without a word.

Her area was set up and she sat up on a large bar chair, and her legs just dangled around. A man dressed in black help-garb came to her and asked what she wanted.  
As she told her, Vergil had taken a seat on the open chair left for him and observed the other players. Each was seedier than the last, the perfect kind of casino-crawlers.

There was a beautiful woman to his left, clad in a low-cut red dress, "They call me lucky Amanda."

She looked at Vergil seductively, because of course she would.

Next to her was an elderly man wearing glasses, and his beard was thirteen metaphorical feet long, "Name's Chris, so they call me Kringle."

The man on the opposite of Vergil introduced himself.

"Golden-arm Joe."

They looked to him for a response. Staring around, he just said it sarcastically.

"Devilish Dante."

The game started, and the first few rounds saw conservative betting, the players testing each other's strengths and weaknesses, everyone waiting for the others to make the first mistake.

Almost as if in agreement with this strategy, for the first half hour nobody had any real winning hands, it all going down to who had the highest value cards.  
Vergil was the first get anything worth a buck, and it was just a pair of two. The pot was small during that round, nobody bet much. Beyond some few quite moments, everyone was talkative at this point.  
During the tenth round, however, there seemed to be some unspoken agreement that everyone chose to abide by.

Right off the bat, all three suddenly had working hands.

Dealership had been passing steady with Joe starting in the first round and the next player over dealing cards the next round and so on and so forth.

The room was nice enough for this that the others barely noticed anything potentially wrong.  
There didn't seem to be, Vergil was counting on there being nothing. He had a feeling the danger came elsewhere.

It was now Kringle's turn to deal, giving each player five cards face down, before putting the deck neatly next to him on the table and picking up his own hand.

Since he was the Dealer, Lucky had first bid. She was noticeably smirking, but then again she'd been doing that the whole time so far, even when she had nothing.  
Everyone was wondering where she was gonna take them, what move she would make. The entire ideal of the game was predicated on deception.  
She raised the stakes a bit, everybody having bid no more than 2k. This round, Vergil took a small stack of chips before him and tossed them into the middle while saying, "I bid three."

"Hmmm. . . Interesting." Joe smirked.

Things got quiet for a bit.

Finally, Amanda broke the silence.

"This, this is gonna be fun." She showed her cards and the group collectively sighed.

...

**Thank you for reading everyone.**


	18. Discontinued

Sorry, but I will stop this story here. Because honestly, I feel like people don't really like it.  
So Yeah I'm not going to bother to keep updating this anymore.  
Thank you for everyone who read this and left kudos, I truly appreciated it.


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